My Love Won't Fade Away
by Rainy1
Summary: "A soul mate is someone who you can carry with you forever. It's the one person who... Who knew you; it's the one person who accepted you and... Believed in you before anyone else did, or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you'll always love them... Nothing can ever change that." USUK AU.
1. Chapter 1

He never expected to fall in love. Arthur Kirkland was more than content living out his life without the love of a romantic partner in it.

That is, until he met Alfred F. Jones.

Arthur was seventeen years old, and Alfred was a freshman, who was just entering the world of high school, when they met. Alfred was interested in sports, he received decent grades, had a fair amount of friends, and even though he was in the middle of puberty, he had a handsome face and was a good height. You either loved Alfred F. Jones or you hated him. There was no in between.

Arthur, of course, was not instantly fond of the American. He viewed Alfred as a person who was far too oblivious for their own good. The git was so disgustingly optimistic and talked to everyone about practically anything!

And so, it was just his luck when Alfred became attracted to Arthur like a month to flames. Arthur could never understand why the boy was so fixed on talking to him and trying to befriend him. It made no sense; they were practically polar opposites! Arthur put all of his focus into his school work, he didn't play or even enjoy sports, he liked to drink tea and knit, and he often read books and even wrote his own original stories. Alfred had no reason to be so interested in him, but alas, he was. Alfred was so drawn to the older boy and wouldn't let him go until the snappy Britain grew to like him.

And that's explain what had happened and more.

* * *

><p>By the end of the year, he and Alfred had become best friends. No one was completely sure how or why it happened, but it worked out and that was that. Arthur was always there for Alfred. Despite hating sports with a passion, he went to his football games and cheered him on, he helped him study, he gave him advice, and he even stayed up late on weekdays when the younger boy couldn't sleep and talked to him on the phone until one of them passed out.<p>

The favor was returned, of course. Alfred was always there for Arthur. He comforted him in times of need, he read the books that the older boy recommended to him, he read Arthur's own original stories, and he even proudly wore a warm hat all winter long that the British boy had knitted him. But the greatest gift that the American gave him was the gift of true friendship; something that had previously been a void in Arthur's life.

On the last game of the season, Arthur surprisingly cheered the loudest. If you were to presently ask him about it, he would say that all of the pain that his voice took that night wasn't even worth it considering how terrible Alfred did (the poor boy was downright awful at sports). Nevertheless, the faint spark in his green eyes would tell you otherwise.

And when the day of Arthur's high school graduation came around and the principal called his name and he walked up to the stage proudly, Alfred cheered the loudest… louder than he probably should have, according to Arthur and the poor people seated around Alfred. The British boy found it absolutely embarrassing to watch his young best friend stand on the metal chair all while unprofessionally whooping and throwing his fists animatedly into the air… But if you were to ask Arthur about that day, he would leave out that part entirely.

After the ceremony, Arthur ended up driving them away to a park that was near Alfred's house. There, at that park at 1:15pm in the vacant grassy hills, was when the boys shared their first deep conversation; the conversation that had really begun it all.

Arthur had initiated it. He confined in his best friend about how, despite how mature he made himself out to be, deep down, he was honestly afraid of growing up. He was afraid to be an adult and he was afraid to live out his own life due to his fear of something going wrong, just as his childhood was. Things got even more emotional when Arthur continued on the subject of his family and revealed to his for once silent friend about how he was never close to any of his family members. While his mother did baby him when he was an infant, both of his parents were more than often busy trying to maintain enough money to support their large family. Arthur wasn't even close to his brothers to begin with and he often secluded himself away from them. His parents were hardly ever home, and his brothers were never there for him, and so Arthur was forced to teach himself how to do this and that and what this means and how to properly use that. As a result, Arthur had grown up too quickly. He explained that he figures that it is the reason why he was so different from Alfred and the rest of their peers.

And from that note, Alfred revealed his story. For the first time in their friendship, Alfred had let his seemingly invisible walls down for his best friend. Quietly, the blue eyed boy told his story.

His father had abandoned his family long ago; so long ago, in fact, that Alfred couldn't even remember what he had looked like. His mother, who desperately loved their father, took her loss out on her sons. She put down Alfred and his brother Matthew and tore them apart with verbal insults and remarks, and had even physically harmed the both of them on more than one occasion. It was more painful for little Matthew than it ever was for Alfred, who always had a friend who was there for him and who was born a lot stronger than Matthew was. The soft spoken boy was seven years old when their father left and it seemed to him that every time that he had opened his mouth, he was shot down by his mother. And so, from a very young age, Matthew had taught himself to be invisible. Unfortunately, that had caused a lot of emotional damage to the little boy, who would often have mental break downs as he got older. His brother's distress broke his heart, and so Alfred forced himself to become a hero for his little brother. He tried everything that he possibly could to help him. He had spent most of his time with his brother talking to him, comforting him, had tried to get him to interact with others, and he had even tried to get him to talk to the school counselor.

Nothing ever worked. No matter what Alfred did, Matthew was still broken. And it killed Alfred. Nobody wants to see their sibling go through life like that… Alfred said that he couldn't wait until he was eighteen so that he could take Matthew away and escape from that prison, even if Matthew was still scarred. But what Arthur found the most amazing was that despite going through that kind of torture for years, Alfred had managed to stay strong. He had stayed bright and optimistic for himself and his brother because "someone has to be a hero".

Hearing that heart breaking story made Arthur feel as though his problems were petty little stones compared to Alfred's ocean of issues. The British boy could not understand why someone would treat their own children like that way. That god awful woman had ruined her sons from the inside out. She had one boy who forced himself to remain closed up and unseen for the majority of his life, and she had another who forced himself to always be happy just to give his brother a reason to live. It made Arthur's head fume and his heart fill up with rage.

All Arthur wanted to do was keep Alfred safe. He wanted to teach the younger boy that it was perfectly alright to not be happy all of the time, and that sometimes you need to let other people be the hero. He ached to whisk his best friend away from the jaws of the monster and pull him into the light of his arms. He never wanted Alfred to leave, and he wanted to protect him forever. He…

He loved him.

Yes, he loved him.

Arthur had never even wanted love, but then this thick headed, wonderful American with sparkling, sky blue eyes and an electrifying smile threw himself right into his life and made Arthur fall for him… And oddly enough, he was alright with it.

That was the day that Arthur had fallen in love with Alfred.

And the feeling was mutual.

* * *

><p>"What on Earth even <em>compelled<em> you to buy that… that… completely horrendous piece of machinery!?"

"Aw, come on, Artie! I think it's really cool!"

Twenty-six year old Arthur glared at his best friend of almost ten years, who was leaning against a glossy, brand new motorcycle with a massive, dopey grin plastered across his face. Arthur leaned back against the cool wall of Alfred's house and rubbed the bridge of his nose in disbelief.

"You could've gotten something to do with your guitar, but no, of course you just had to spend your raise on something so utterly preposterous!" The Brit spat as he watched his friend rub the seat of his sparkling blue bike and fondly regard it as if it were a new born baby.

"Mattie likes it." Alfred pointed out, giving his beloved friend a playful smirk. Arthur crossed his arms, obviously unamused and opinion remaining unchanged.

"You brother is also dating the idiot who was convinced that my eyebrows were real caterpillars for the majority of our childhood." Arthur reminded. Alfred sighed softly and closed the space between them

"Arthur, don't worry!" He spoke playfully as he threw his arms around the shorter man in an unnaturally tight embrace, "I promise I'll be fine!"

"Let go of me, you twit!" He hissed. The younger man didn't obey, and instead clung to his best friend and practically lifted him off of his feet.

"Come on, Art! I know you love hugging me!" He teased with a joyful laugh and pressed his nose against Arthur's choppy blond hair. The man in question continued to struggle as his face flushed brightly.

"Yes, yes, but I also like being able to breathe!" He hissed and flailed his arms behind Alfred's back. The American let out a strand of heart warming laughter and finally released his steaming friend. Arthur panted slightly and fell to his bum. He leaned back against the garage and closed his eyes. Alfred soon followed suit and plopped himself down next to Arthur with a happy smile stretched across his face.

"I can take ya for a ride if you want!" Alfred bribed, gazing at Arthur affectionately. Arthur, however, snapped open his eyes and scowled at Alfred.

"No. I'd rather spend a week straight with Francis than allow you to haul me around on _that_." He explained, nodded towards the bike. Alfred pouted and shoved his face into Arthur's hair.

"But it'd be so fun!" He whined and rubbed his long nose against Arthur's head. The older man flushed again and tried to shrug the American off of him.

"Stop being such an idiot, you're not fourteen anymore! And why the hell do you insist on being so touchy today?" He countered, successfully pushing Alfred's head away from his own. Arthur twisted around so that both men were facing each other. Alfred was fondly staring down at Arthur with his big blue eyes shining with friendliness, which caused the Brit's heart to flip. Arthur quickly averted his gaze away and heard the American chuckle softly.

"I'm hungry, let's go inside." Alfred decided as he stood up. Arthur rolled his eyes and followed Alfred's lead.

"That's nothing new."

He heard Alfred unleash another strand of obnoxious laughter as they made their way up to the front door. Alfred quickly swung it open and held it in place.

"Ladies first!" He sneered, earning himself a quick jab to the chest from Arthur as he calmly entered the home.

He had always felt strangely at home here. The house had a sort of sentimental feel to it. It was Alfred's first home, and Arthur was by his side to watch him pick it out. He was also dragged along when Alfred was given the clearance to view it in person, Arthur recalled smiling proudly as his friend was handed the keys, and he was even there to help him pick out cheap furniture. Arthur considered the home as sort of a step in their friendship. It was practically _their_ home, afterall! He found himself smiling fondly as he pictured moving his own belongings into this very room after they become boyfr—

"Earth to Artie! You there?"

The older of the two friends blinked and jumped slightly. He hadn't realized that he had successfully managed to slip away into another daydream… Again.

"O-oh yes, Alfred, I'm here. What is it?"

He turned his sight towards the kitchen and got a lovely view of Alfred leaning against the arch of the kitchen wall, chowing down on a piece of cold sausage and pepperoni pizza and getting bits of it all over his mouth.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your little meeting with the fairies and unicorns, but I was wondering if you were hungry?"

"Quit playing that card against me; I was fucking drunk!" Arthur spat, "But no, you can eat all of the damn food that you'd like. I'll pass."

Alfred shrugged and took another large bite of his poor excuse for a dinner and walked over to the tan couch.

"Suit yourself." He replied as he sat himself down on the excessively used plush cushions. Arthur quickly followed suit and sat down besides his friend. Alfred contently leaned back against the couch and clicked on the T.V. The pair was very loudly welcomed with the final scene of a crime show.

"Alfred, turn the damn volume down! I've been telling you for years that you're going to get brain damage from how loud you listen to the bloody telly!" Arthur scolded with a glare of disapproval. Alfred's reply was a stiffened laugh followed by a harsh cough, thanks to a bite of pizza going down the wrong pipe.

"And just what is so bloody funny that you choke on your own food?" Arthur questioned, changing his position on the couch so that he could stare, erm, _glare_, at him all he wanted. Alfred just continued to switch between laughing and choking as the protagonist in the program was shot in the stomach and screamed brutally. The T.V was still at an unreasonable volume, so while Alfred was having his fit, Arthur frowned and leaned over him to grab the remote and lower the damn volume so that their ears won't bleed. Alfred's little fit went down with the volume as he began to calm down.

"T… T… Telly…" He could barely finish speaking before he erupted into a fit of laughter, the half eaten pizza in his grasp long forgotten. Arthur raised his brilliant brows in disbelief.

"Are you serious? You still laugh at that? Alfred, it's not that funny!" He countered to no avail as Alfred continued to laugh. Arthur frowned; growing tired of this nonsense, and forcefully pushed Alfred off of the couch and onto the floor. The blue eyed blond landed on his stomach with a thud as his laughter slowly subsided.

"Are you quite finished now?" Arthur asked after Alfred's panting ceased. He nodded and stood up.

"Yeah… But you owe me another pizza." Alfred replied with a grin as he reached for the slice of perfectly good pizza that was now lying face down on the carpet. Arthur felt his cheek grow warm thanks to that stupid smile that he always ends up swooning over. Thankfully, Alfred didn't notice as he walked off into the kitchen to dispose of the food.

"Do ya work tomorrow?" Alfred asked as he trudged back into the living room. Arthur nodded as he absentmindedly watched the program. He felt the couch shift under Alfred's weight as he sat down.

"Yes, eight to four, per usual. What about you? Please tell me that you're not leaving me alone with Francis again…"

"Nope! Lucky you, I got scheduled for eight to four too! I might see if I can take the four to midnight shift the next day though. I want to take my new bike out for a spin around town."

"Why did you even buy it in the first place? You broke your bloody arm when you were fifteen because you fell off of your damn bicycle. What makes you think that you can handle that… Thing?" Arthur asked, glancing up towards Alfred, who was blankly watching the program.

"Dunno. But you never know until you try it!"

Arthur sighed in defeat. It was no use to try and argue with him. Alfred had bought it and he was hell bent on putting it to good use. But is it really wrong to be so worried over him? Arthur knew that plenty of people get seriously injured thanks to motorcycle accidents, and he'd be damned before he let Alfred get hurt. The boy was an oblivious, obnoxious, too much for his own good ball wrapped up in a hero complex, and while Arthur did have his days when the twit overly annoyed him… He loved him nevertheless. He honestly still loved him after all of these years, and he just wanted Alfred to be safe, even if it meant playing mother hen for the rest of his life.

The thought made Arthur's stomach flip, and he covered his mouth in embarrassment. He peered up at his friend to see that he was, thankfully, glued to the T.V screen. Arthur caught himself smiling. That's certainly a great example of Alfred for you…

The Britain suddenly felt the urge to rest his head against Alfred's shoulder and just cuddle with him then and there. Arthur felt his heart drop. Oh how he wished it could be that easy… His heart ached to be able to just finally be more than friends with Alfred. He wanted to know what his lips tasted like, what his smile looked like when he wakes up in the morning, what he—

"Artie? Are you alright?"

Arthur snapped his head up at the sudden interruption. His face flushed brightly upon realization that he was leaning against Alfred, and feeling Alfred's strong arm hung around his shoulders made his knees grow weak.

"You were doing the thing where you mutter to yourself again." Alfred exclaimed with a friendly smirk. Arthur cleared his throat nervously and quickly shot himself up onto his feet. He rubbed down his wool sweater anxiously and tried to avoid direct eye contact.

"Yes, well, I should be getting home now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hey, Artie, wait!"

Arthur paused just as he was about to turn around and leave without a final look back. He slowly revealed his green eyes to Alfred, who was looking up at him hopefully and oh, the look in his big blue eyes was so desperate, Arthur felt guilty for wanting to leave so suddenly.

"Would you wanna hang out tomorrow after work? We can rent a movie and come back here. I'll even let you pick it!"

Arthur's face softened and he smiled warmly down at Alfred. The smile seemed to make the American feel better, since he was starting to look less like a kicked puppy.

"Yes, Alfred. I'd love that."

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, so I have quite a bit to say about this story. First up, <em>oh my gosh this thing has been in progress for so long.<em> I started writing the prompt in October. 10 pages and two months later, it was finished. I started the first draft of this chapter immediately afterwards, and that was finished in about a month! **

**Now, on a more important note... _This fanfic is based on a true story_. It's based off of the story about my mother and her best friend. Obviously some things will be tweaked a bit, but it's mostly the romance considering my mom and her best friend were 100% platonic. **

**... Honestly, I am a very slow updater. Especially considering I have a side project going on (The Daily Life of The Bad Touch Trio) and two MORE fanfics (7 Days to Steal Your Heart and Best Kept Secret- the second one being one that is currently undergoing plot notes). Add artwork and amv making to that list and it's pretty long... But considering I have all of the plot notes already written (and in _very fine_ detail, I may add) it shouldn't be too _too_ long. **

**I am super duper excited that this is finally publish and I can't wait to hear what people think about it! This is probably one of my favorite stories I've written, and I hope that some other people enjoy it just as much as I do!**

**See ya guys soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**[Alfred]**

**Ya sure you don't want me to pick u up? The bikes not as scary as it looks lol :)**

**[Message received: 7:32AM]**

**[Me]**

**Yes, Alfred, I am positive. Now go head off to work. I'll see you soon. And don't you even dare think about using your phone while riding that thing!**

**[Message sent: 7:34AM]**

**[Alfred]**

**Awww okay Artie. Ill see u soon then! Don't forget about our plans tonight too btw!**

**[Message received: 7:39AM]**

With a roll of his tired eyes, Arthur placed his cell phone on top of the counter and took another sip of his morning tea. The thought of their later plans have been racing through Arthur's mind ever since he left his best friend's home the evening prior. While it certainly wasn't a rare thing for them to make plans together, something about this one in particular felt… New. Maybe even different, if you will. Just thinking about it made the Brit's stomach flip, and he averted his thoughts to a different topic.

Unfortunately, the thought that Arthur's mind switched to was a not so pleasant one. As much as he'd rather avoid admitting it, Arthur was still concerned for Alfred's safety as long as that goon was still cruising around town on that blasted motorcycle. Who in the right mind would even think that selling _Alfred_ a motorcycle would be a good idea? One look at the American should tell you that he is one who is certainly not fit to operate it!

Arthur sighed heavily, severing the pesky thought. He got up and trudged over to the sink, placing his empty mug in it and making a mental note to himself to do the dishes after his evening with Alfred. The British man patted down his black, long sleeved button down, pocketed his cell phone, and quickly left his home. The chilly October air pecked at Arthur as he hurriedly made way into his car. The time on his phone read 7:45AM as he pulled out of his driveway.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing back in the kitchen, <em>mon cher<em>? I don't think it'd be a good idea to allow you to poison people with your _affreux _cooking; it's why you're a waiter, _non_?"

"Oh can it, frog. Have you seen Alfred? It's 8:15, he should've been here already."

Francis Bonnefoy, an old, obnoxious "friend" from Arthur's childhood, shrugged nonchalantly as he prepared a plate of pancakes and eggs.

"I'm sure _votre petit ami_ is fine, stop worrying and go take this to table four, eyebrows." Francis replied and held out the plate for his coworker. Arthur frowned and shook his head in annoyance.

"Have someone else do it; I'm going to go call him."

Before the Frenchman could argue, Arthur paced through the busy, hot kitchen and took the exit in the back. The cold air greeted Arthur with force, but he ignored it as he frantically clawed out his cell phone and clicked on Alfred's contact.

One ring…

Two rings…

"Damn it, pick up, you twit…" Arthur hissed. His heart was racing a mile a minute as his brain played a million scenarios as to why Alfred wasn't at work. What if he was in the hospital? What if he had gotten into an accident on his way to work? What if he was dead, or seriously injured? Hell, why was Arthur even _at_ work if Alfred could be lying on a hospital bed by now?

"Hello?"

The familiar American accent snapped Arthur right out of his unwanted thoughts.

"You git, where are you! You had me so damn worried, you know that? For God's sake, Alfred—"

"Hey, hey, hey, don't get your panties in a bunch! I'm fine, I promise. Mattie had another nightmare last night, so I went over to his place on my way to work and I just got caught up with him. I don't think I'll be coming in today; this one was pretty bad…"

Arthur let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding as Alfred droned on. Good, so it was just Matthew again… The British man snaked his shaking fingers through his choppy locks and closed his glistening green eyes in relief.

"That's fine, Alfred, just… Please let me know where you are next time."

"Dude, what?" Alfred asked after a moment of pondering silence, "Are you still worried about the bike thing?"

Arthur detected a hint of annoyance in his friend's voice, and he scowled, "Of course I am!" He heard a faint groan erupt from the other end of the line.

"Come on, Art. It's not like I'm fifteen anymore. I'm twenty-three now! I'm sure I can handle it without you switching into a mother hen mode every time I leave my house."

Arthur's scowl deepened and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine, Alfred, just fine. If you're not going to come by today, then I'll stop by your house after work, okay? I'll see you later."

Arthur waited impatiently for the short grunt of reply before he hung up. Alfred was often very stubborn, and it annoyed the Britain to no end.

"What a stupid thing to get angry at me about…" The blond muttered to himself as he pocketed his cell phone yet again.

He tried not to think too much into it as he walked back inside to finish his shift.

* * *

><p>He expected a text.<p>

He expected to receive at least one measly text during his shift. He expected something along the lines of "I'm sorry, we're still on for our movie right". Hell, even just a simple "Sorry about this morning" would've cut it! But no, of course Arthur didn't receive anything of the sort. It had bothered the Brit all day as he waited tables and refilled drinks. Of fucking course Alfred still believed that he was right about being mature enough to own a motorcycle; he thought that about almost anything that he did!

And so by the time his shift ended, Arthur was fuming with irritation. Francis threw him a snarky comment about his attitude as the Brit left the small restaurant, but Arthur's only reply was a quick flip of the bird. He hurried through the chilly, late afternoon air and to his car.

**[Me]**

**I'll be there in ten.**

**[Message sent: 4:10PM]**

His pocket rumbled just as he got into his car, and he rushed to check his message.

**[Alfred]**

**K**

**[Message received: 4:12PM]**

It irked Arthur even more to know that the bloody idiot had his phone on hand all day and didn't even bother to text him. Alfred's reply annoyed the man even further. He detested it whenever Alfred replied with that one mocking letter. Whenever Alfred was annoyed or angry, he would make it so obnoxiously obvious by replying with choppy, emotionless sentences and one word replies. It made Arthur's head fume, and he was fairly certain that the twit knew how peeved it made him, which in turn, proceeded to make the situation even worse.

"Bloody idiot…" Arthur muttered as he tossed his phone onto the passenger's seat and started his car. Alfred was going to get it, oh yes he was! Why was he to blame for being concerned about his well being? Alfred would put a stranger before himself, so someone has to be there for him!

It wasn't their first fight, oh no. A friendship of ten years doesn't come without the occasional argument. Every relationship, rather it be platonic or romantic, has its ups and downs, and Alfred and Arthur were certainly no exception. Granted, the majority of their "fights" were petty little arguments that only happened because they were both too stubborn to admit to being wrong. As angry as Arthur was, he knew that this fight would be no different. They may argue with each other, but after an hour or so, everything will be perfectly alright and they'll laugh it off and watch their movie together and everything will be just fine and dandy!

The thought made Arthur's lips curl into a weak smile as he parked his car in Alfred's driveway. As he pulled the keys out of the ignition, he caught sight of the blue bane of his existence practically smirking at him as it rested next to Arthur's car all shiny and new. The short man grumbled to himself as he exited his car, walked up to the door of Alfred's house, and rang the doorbell once.

The door opened slightly almost immediately, and Arthur caught it and walked into the heated house. The awkwardness of the situation already leaked into the atmosphere as Alfred walked back to his couch and sat down in silence. Arthur, feeling vulnerable, hesitantly followed the taller man and sat on the opposite end.

"My brother isn't healthy, Artie," Alfred began before the Brit even sat down, "It's been five years since we moved out of mom's house, and he's still broken and scarred. He wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and screaming because of how badly she treated us. The first person he calls when that happens is me, and I have to be there for him. He's my brother, Arthur, and I love him to death. I'll be damned if I'm not there for him because I know that if anything bad were to happen to me, he'd be there in a heartbeat."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. Alfred seemed to be uncomfortable as well, because he avoided eye contact and kept his gaze fixed on the coffee table in front of them. After a moment, Arthur spoke up quietly, "You can't always play the role of the hero, Alfred. You have to take care of yourself as well—"

"Wait," Alfred interrupted and peered at Arthur with an unreadable look in his eyes, "Wait, wait, wait… Is this _still_ about the bike thing?"

Arthur couldn't even meet his eyes as Alfred stared questioningly at him. The silence served as his answer, and Alfred shook his head in disbelief, "Fuck, Arthur, I don't know what's worse: me thinking that you were jealous of my brother, or you actually being upset that I can make my own choices now. This argument is pointless," The sudden volume of Alfred's voice made Arthur jump slightly, "You're upset with me because I can make my own decisions now. Do you know how stupid that sounds? I'm twenty-three years old; you've got to stop treating me like a kid!"

Arthur frowned and glanced at Alfred. He was staring at his guest in disbelief with pleading yet angry blue eyes.

"I care for you just as much as you care for Matthew. He may come before I do, but I'll be damned before I let anything bad happen to you, especially if it can be avoided by not being a bloody idiot!"

"I'm not stupid, Arthur! As much as you'd like to believe it, I'm not!" Alfred countered as he suddenly stood up and glared down at his best friend, "You can't keep having me on this… On this stupid leash!"

Arthur, who was getting more and more irritated by the minute, stood up as well and stared into Alfred's baby blue's with rage, "Well maybe you wouldn't need to be put on a damn leash if you weren't such an idiot! My God, Alfred, do you know how many stupid things you've done over the years? Actually, I'm pretty surprised that you're not buried six feet under the ground yet. You can probably owe that to me for saving your arse all the damn time!"

"Oh yeah," Alfred snickered darkly, "Maybe that's where I should be. Maybe—"

"Do you even hear what you're saying? You're such a fucking imbecile, Alfred!" Arthur interrupted loudly, his voice shaking from the strain that he was putting it through. The fight only seemed to grow more and more heated by the minute, and neither man showed signs of quitting.

"Yeah," Alfred spat back, "that's nothing new to you, is it? Stop holding yourself up so high above me just because you're older than me! You're not special, Arthur; I have more important things to worry about than you, or even me. I try so hard to please you and make you happy, but it's so damn hard because you're impossible!"

"And you're no better!"

"Then leave! Fucking leave and go get hammered and sob to yourself until you pass out just like you always do! I can't deal with this right now; I need to get back to more important things, like how to keep my little brother from breaking."

Alfred and Arthur stared intently into each other's eyes in silence. Arthur suddenly felt awful and selfish as his heart pounded violently against his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs. The longer he looked into his best friend's eyes, the more he could see the hurt and the anger emitting from his memorable blue orbs.

"… Fine, Alfred. Go be a bloody hero." He breathed. Without waiting for a reply, Arthur ripped his worn eyes away from Alfred's and walked out the door, making sure to slam it on the way out. The sun was beginning to set, and the October sky was a swirling mix of luscious reds, pinks, blues, and purples, but Arthur paid it no mind as he dragged himself to his car in silence. Not once did he look back as he unlocked his car door and entered, suddenly feeling very alone. With a shaky breath, Arthur put the keys in the ignition and started the car. The obnoxious groaning of the engine wasn't even enough to block out the beating of his heart and the echoing of Alfred's insults that dashed through his mind.

It was 5:02PM when Arthur made the silent, lonely drive home.

* * *

><p>It was the longest twenty minutes of Arthur's life. He was fixed on the road ahead and tried to severe all thoughts of Alfred as he drove home with a straight face. Not once did he crack. No smile, no tears… Absolutely nothing. So when he finally got home, reached for his phone (which didn't have any new messages, as much as he expected one), parked the car, and got inside, he wasn't too surprised when he froze in front of the door and choked back a sob. Arthur was even less surprised when he found himself with his palm over his mouth as tears finally dripped from his tired eyes.<p>

He fell to his knees and sobbed.

It was stupid and he knew it. There he was, a grown man of twenty-six years old crying on the floor because he had fought with his best friend. Arthur was a fool, a selfish fool. Alfred had every right to make his own choices, and he most certainly had the right to miss work to make sure that his brother was all right. That meant that if Alfred wanted to buy a motorcycle and ride it around town for hours, then he has every right to do so, no matter if his best friend says otherwise… Right?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…" He grumbled. The whole situation was incredibly stupid and pointless. He shouldn't have fought with Alfred because of his own selfish reasons, he shouldn't have bombarded him with insults, he shouldn't have gone home without apologizing, and he shouldn't have left him because he had promised to never do so.

Before he knew it, Arthur found himself in the kitchen blabbering to himself without even attempting to hold back his tears and sudden gasps and sobs.

"Stupid Alfred… 'Go get hammered and sob to yourself like you always do'…" The muttering became more and more incoherent through his gasps and sobs, and he soon found himself with a tall glass of scotch ale in his grasp. Arthur trudged across the kitchen and into the living room while mumbling to himself about his best friend as tears crawled down his pink cheeks. In a minute, he was sitting against his old couch, and in another, his phone was fished from his pocket and locked tightly in his grasp.

"You're a bloody fucking idiot…" A swing of alcohol, "You could've at least apologized. I know that I'm at fault too, but fuck, Alfred…. I love you. I love you so much, you don't understand, I…"

His rambling was quickly replaced with blubbering sobs. Arthur shook his head violently, took another hard swing of his drink, and tossed his phone ruthlessly onto the coffee table in front of him. It was stupid, it really was. There was Arthur Kirkland sitting on his floor, drinking liquor every five seconds while sobbing to himself about how much he loves a man who will never return the feeling. It's a sad sight, he decided as the gulps lasted longer and the sobs grew louder. Arthur's sorrow soon began to be replaced with drowsiness as his eyelids grew heavier and the cup lighter. He wiped at his droopy eyes vigorously and emitted an odd mix of a pained gasp and a yawn. Within minutes, the empty glass was forgotten, and Arthur was lying on the warm rug listening to the thumping of his heart and playing the fight over and over again in his mind.

The time on his phone read 6:01PM when he fell asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>First up, this is totally a new record for me! It only took me around three weeks to complete the first draft of this chapter, and two days to complete the final draft! It usually takes around two months for me to finish the first draft, but I just really love working on this story and my plot notes are really detailed, so that helps a lot!<strong>

**Secondly, I hope the break off for this chapter was alright! It's a little tiny bit shorter than the length that I prefer my chapters to be, but it was either cut it off here and have it a decent length, or cut it off later and have it be really long. So I hope you're alright with the word count!**

**As for the parallels to the true story, there's not much in this chapter. My mom and her best friend didn't have a huge fight. He fought with his girlfriend, and what happened next can't be revealed yet because what happened is in the next chapter! Speaking of next chapters, chapter three shouldn't take too long, hopefully!**

**As a last note before I put the translation notes in, like... I don't want to beg for reviews, but they do help motivate me A LOT and I appreciate them when I get them! **

**Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

**Translation Notes:**

_**mon cher - **_**_French: "my dear"_**

_**affreux -French: "awful"**_

_**votre petit ami - French: "your boyfriend"**_


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur was rudely woken by the violent rumbling of his phone against the wooden surface of his coffee table.

He emitted a pained groan as his broken emerald eyes slowly came to fix. The living room was dark and lonesome, and Arthur's heart immediately dropped as he slowly sat up. He had a putrid feeling deep in his gut that clawed at his stomach, and he felt hallow and alone as he peered around the dark room questioningly. A sharp pain in his head suddenly struck, and Arthur grasped his it and let out a groan.

He wasn't quite sure as to what had happened before he blacked out, although the empty glass, the pounding headache, and the bitter taste lingering in his swollen throat signified that he had drunk a bit. The Brit rubbed at his puffy eyes and attempted to remember what had caused the empty feeling that was tearing at him from the inside.

It came back to him almost instantly.

The yelling, the accusations, the dreaded silence, the harsh insults, the sobbing, the self loathing, the drinking…

He had fought with Alfred. Oh yes, he remembered clearly now.

"I need another drink," He blubbered. Before he could even pry himself off the floor, another rumble from his phone grabbed his attention.

**[Alfred]**

**Meet me at our park at 1:40? If ur still up but I know u r**

**[Message received: 1:19AM]**

Arthur's heart shot up into his burning throat, and he half expected himself to puke up all of the night's emotions and regrets. With shaking fingers, he slowly typed his reply as warm tears threatened his vision.

**[Me]**

**Alright.**

**[Message sent: 1:26AM]**

The pain was almost completely unbearable. To say that he felt like shit would be an understatement. He longed for an escape: alcohol, work, sleep, anything that didn't involve confronting Alfred face to face. Arthur wasn't weak, no; in fact, he was a strong, proud man who just happened to be unable to handle pain well.

The Britain breathed out a desperate sigh and stared blankly at his phone. He honestly didn't want to see Alfred. He feared the _what if's_ and he didn't want to face whatever horrible situation could rear out of confronting what had happened. Hell, he didn't even want to _remember_ the argument… But Alfred had asked to see him. Knowing the American awfully well, Arthur was sure that the git tried to look past their fight and continue on his day like it didn't bother him. It could've eaten Alfred from the inside, and he would pretend as though he couldn't even feel it! The older of the two had always despised that. There was nothing wrong with showing a little emotion; Alfred was just young and foolish. He was an immature brat who suffered from an equally immature hero complex and put himself in front of every god forsaken person. Alfred never paid attention to his own problems as long as there was someone else who he deemed had it worse than him.

"And that's why _I_ have to be there for _him_," Arthur decided aloud. Arthur had to be a hero for _his _hero.

Despite the pain in his heart, the blond stood up. The action alone proved to be a chore, and he fell back onto the brown couch behind him. Arthur closed his eyes in aggravation and rubbed at his temples. His head swirled madly and he suddenly felt very ill.

"Maybe I'll take an Advil before I leave…"

* * *

><p>Arthur had second guessed his decision twice. The first time was when he entered the bathroom to pop a pill and make himself look presentable. He gagged as soon as he caught sight of his reflection. He knew that seeing how broken he looked didn't trigger his gag reflex, although irony did play a cruel card with that one.<p>

The second time was just as he was about to open the door and trek outside. Arthur had reached for the doorknob, but suddenly felt very dizzy and toppled over. As much as he would deny it, Arthur wanted to cry. He felt so weak and alone, and he was even beginning to ask himself if seeing Alfred would really be worth it. However, the Kirkland genes possess some sort of inner strength, and so, he managed to pull himself up off the floor and finally walk out into the cold night.

He desperately needed to see Alfred, no matter how badly his body fought it.

As Arthur pulled into the abandoned parking lot of his and Alfred's sentimental park, he felt the regret and guilt wash over him yet again. His heart shot up into his throat and his eyes burnt with pesky tears of fear and self pity.

"Come on, Arthur," He mumbled to himself as he massaged his temples gingerly, "you cannot back away from this now."

With a final sigh of desperation, the nervous Brit tore his keys from the ignition, exited his car, and stepped out into the chilly darkness. He took long strides as the frosty air curled around him and attempted to nip on his gloves fingers and his freckled cheeks, but he paid no mind. His entire attention was on Alfred. He knew where Alfred would be: on a small hill to the far left of the park that was marked by a single, towering lamp post. That very spot was engraved into Arthur's memory; afterall, that was where they had their moment after Arthur's graduation years prior. That was where he had fallen in love with the younger man. That's where so many memories were born, flourished, and shared, and that was where Alfred would be.

Sure enough, Arthur could see the form of a man leaning casually against the lonely post. His footsteps felt lighter and lighter, and his heart felt heavier and heavier as he approached the meeting spot. The painful feeling of emptiness haunted his gut and tugged at his pitiful heartstrings, and Arthur wondered if that was how the lamp post felt. His mind swirled and he felt excruciatingly dizzy; nevertheless, Arthur ignored the ringing in his ears and attempted to maintain his composure as Alfred came into view.

It seemed as though sleeplessness struck Alfred over the head as well. Alfred's shoulders were slouched sorrowfully, his hair was an untidy rat's nest, and his eyes looked sleepy and dull. The appearance didn't seem like Alfred whatsoever, and seeing him like that made Arthur flinch.

"Hi…" Alfred breathed a greeting. Arthur stepped into the hauntingly dim, yellow blanket of light emitted from the desolate lamp post, and then, they were the only two in the world. Arthur could see Alfred clearly, and the world around them seemed to vanish as his sad green eyes casted over his tall friend. The Brit felt very self conscious within a moment, and he ran a gloved hand over his messy locks for comfort. Arthur's reply was silence.

"I um," Alfred spoke up after a moment of painfully awkward quietness, "I don't really know how to begin, actually…"

Arthur dared himself to meet the blue eyes that always made him feel appreciated. They weren't bright, lively blue skies on a summer afternoon as they usually were. The light was gone and replaced with dark, gloomy, rainy skies… It didn't suit Alfred. They weren't Alfred's eyes, they couldn't be. That was not who he was, he shouldn't be sporting such a heart wrenching expression, he shouldn't look so lost and upset, his thin cheeks shouldn't be pink with tear stains, he shouldn't be blaming himself for what had happened, he shouldn't even be going through this, he…

Arthur choked back a sob as he brain littered itself with clusters of thoughts. He tried to reply, he honestly did. A million phrases raced through his cluttered mind: "I'm sorry", "I was wrong", "Please don't beat yourself up", "You're my hero", "Don't leave me, please", "I love you so much"…

"I'm so foolish," The British man squeaked and rubbed at his wet eyes in shame, "I'm such an idiot."

Alfred's mouth gapped opened as he struggled to reply. He was sporting his "kicked puppy" expression, which only heightened Arthur's emotions.

"Arthur, you're not stupid…" He tried to reassure in a frail voice. The man in question shook his head and chuckled darkly.

"No, I am. I've been crying all fucking day, you know? I drank and sobbed to myself until I passed out on the floor. I am the bloody embodiment of self pity. If that isn't stupid, Alfred, then please enlighten me as to what is."

The following pause engulfed the men. The autumn air crept into their bubble of light and carried Arthur's hushed sniffles away into the dark night surrounding them. Minutes ticked by before either dared to crack the glass of silence.

"I'm sorry," Alfred's voice cracked. It wasn't nearly as obvious as Arthur, but the younger of the two was crying as well, "It was stupid, I know it was. We were both wrong, and of course I didn't mean any of those things that I said to you and I regret even thinking them. Arthur, I…"

Another pause ensued. Arthur's heart flipped and pulsed frantically. Tears dripped from his round cheeks as he peeked up at the taller blond in time to seem him scratch at his nose with an expression of uncertainty.

"… You're my best friend," Alfred continued, "We've been through hell and back. You've helped Mattie and me through so much. I've always been Mattie's rock throughout our entire lives. I have to be there to protect him because I love him. I would do anything for him, and you know that. I'm his hero, but… I've never had someone do the same for me, until I met you. I never thought I'd say this, Artie, but you've been my hero. Without you… Hell, I don't even know where I'd be. I don't want to lose you, not to something like this. You're one of the most important people in my life, okay? I want you to always remember that. If you forget anything, please don't let it be that."

Arthur choked back yet another sob and bit down harshly onto his lip. He scrubbed at his swollen eyes as tears cascaded down his cheeks one after another. Alfred frowned, but his tan face soon cracked into a weak smile. Without hesitation, he closed the gap between them and pulled his best friend into his chest and embraced him. The warmth of Alfred's body wrapped around the short Britain, and he clung to the back of Alfred's brown jacket desperately.

"I promise to never leave you, Alfred," He whispered against his shoulder, "I will always be your hero. I'm so sorry for being such a git…"

He felt Alfred's chest bounce with light laughter, and Arthur smiled and breathed in his friend's homely scent. The pair stayed silent for a moment in their embrace until they were pulled away from their sanctuary under the warmth of the yellow light and were back in their park all alone with nothing but the night as their witness. Finally, Alfred pulled away from Arthur and let his strong arms fall to his side.

"I guess we have to do movie night some other time then, huh?"

Arthur smiled.

* * *

><p>A soft blanket of early morning sun peeked through old blinds and dropped itself neatly onto Arthur's sleeping form. With a grumble of disapproval, he slowly opened his tired emerald eyes and sat up with a quiet yawn.<p>

Alfred and Arthur didn't return to their own homes the night before until twenty minutes after two in the morning. Alfred tried to push Arthur into taking off work the next day so that the pair could stay up until dawn wandering town together as they had often done in their adolescence. Alfred's persistence, however, was no use, and Arthur was the one to break off their time together and tell Alfred to go to bed.

A furious rumble from his phone snapped Arthur's eyes opened and tore him away from his thoughts.

"Who the bloody fuck is calling? It's seven-thirty in the morning…" He complained. Arthur reached for his phone, his wooly blanket slipping from his bare shoulders. The caller ID read Alfred, and the Brit rolled his eyes. Of course it was Alfred.

"Mornin', sunshine!" The American greeted joyfully from the other line. Arthur snorted in amusement.

"Yes, yes, what is it, Alfred? Why are you awake so early anyway; you don't have to be at work until four. Shouldn't you be sleeping until noon, per usual?"

"Nope," He laughed, "Well, yeah, I mean, I am scheduled to take four to midnight, but I thought I'd take a cruise around town on my bike! I just wanted to let you know in case you freak out again."

Arthur smiled weakly despite himself. It was honestly reassuring to have someone who thought of you like in a way like so; no matter if Alfred did that to virtually anyone he met.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll call you after work, alright? Have fun, and be safe on that damn thing."

"Don't worry, Artie," He could practically hear Alfred's doofy grin, "I'll be fine, I promise! I'll talk to ya later!"

The green-eyed blond ended the call with a smile on his face.

"Twit…" He muttered playfully to himself. Arthur was ecstatic to be on good terms with Alfred again. That boy was a walking ray of sunshine, and without him in your life, everything was dark and gloomy. Alfred was the type of person who carried happiness in a bag and donned it to anyone he thought deserved it. Arthur figured that maybe that was why the stubborn American had tried so hard to befriend him back in high school; because he saw how sad and lonely he was and wished to grant him happiness?

Whatever the reason, Arthur Kirkland was truly happy.

* * *

><p>Life seemed better that day.<p>

The drive to work was quick and painless, with traffic being less of an issue than usual. The October air was cool and pleasant, and the sky was bright and blue without a cloud in sight. Arthur felt significantly brighter and happier, and he was sure that he had Alfred to thank for that. With just a glimpse of Alfred's contagious smile, the world was a better place.

"Hell, maybe I'll even confess to him today," He meant it as a joke, but as he parked his car near the front of the steamy restaurant he called work, it felt so right. The words flowed smoothly off of his tongue and didn't even catch in his throat. Arthur was beginning to think that he was dreaming; everything felt too good to be true. He felt so disconnected from the world, and nothing seemed real.

He attempted to dispose of the thoughts as he stepped out of his car and patted his black button down. Arthur took proud, blissful steps, but as he neared the front of his work, a frown fell into place.

"Oh bloody fuck," He breathed as he caught sight of Francis. The second bane of his existence was pacing back and forth across the outside waiting area. As Arthur grew closer, he sensed a strange aura. The tall French man was tugging at his wavy hair and mumbling frantic, silent words to himself as he walked a line in front of the doors with his phone locked tightly in his grasp.

"Francis," Arthur began uncertainly. He held his tongue in wait for the witty remark his old friend would place upon him, however, it never came. At the sound of his name, Francis snapped his head in Arthur's direction and raced down the ramp to greet him.

"Arthur," He called for the shorter man and grasped his shoulders with sweaty palms, "_Oh, Dieu merci! _I thought you were _avec lui!_ You know, Arthur, I… _j'avais peur._ I can't believe it, I really can't. I thought you were there; I was about ready to drive over there no matter what Matthew said. _Je suis desole, je suis desole, je suis desole…_"

Francis droned on as his words became more and more jumbled each time he switched languages. Something wasn't right, Arthur was sure of it. He knew Francis long enough to know how frantic he becomes when he is upset or afraid. Arthur frowned and tried to push the older man off of him as Francis shook and mumbled insanely.

"Francis," He snapped, "Get a hold of yourself and get off me! Why are you crying? What happened?"

The broken, stuttering French ceased and he pierced his gaze into Arthur's eyes. His cheeks were red and wet with tears, and his flirtatious blue eyes were blood shot and fearful. A shiver crept down Arthur's spine and he broke the uncomfortable gaze.

"You… You don't know?" He barely whispered.

"No, I obviously don't," Arthur replied sternly. He swallowed hard as the uncomfortableness of the situation increased with each passing second, "What happened? Was it Matthew? Is he alright, should I call Alfred?"

The taller blond gasped and shook his head as tears bean to weld in his eyes yet again. He chuckled sadly, muttered a few words in his native language, and met Arthur's worried orbs yet again.

"Arthur… Alfred got into an accident this morning. He collided with a truck, and he is in the hospital right now. Matthew said that it looks very, very bad… I'm sorry Arthur, I am so, so sorry."

* * *

><p><strong>Oh man, updated in a little over a month. I tried to update faster, but I had a hard time writing the first draft for this chapter since I've been suffering from writers block for some time. I do have to say, though, that I like the final much more than the draft (even though it's supposed to be that way)!<strong>

**Anyway, _Alfred is not_ dead. I feel like I should note that. I don't want people thinking that he is, especially since I don't know when the next update will be (hopefully sooner than later, though!). **

**... I also feel as though I should mention that, from here on out, it's downhill. The angst category for this is not to be taken lightly, it's pretty heart wrenching. This chapter alone made me tear up constantly and made my girlfriend sob so aha, I hope you guys know what you're in for!**

**As for the parallels to the true story, as stated in the previous chapter, my mom and her best friend never fought. He fought with his girlfriend, and he met my mom at a park late at night to talk about it, and their friendship grew stronger. My mom found out about his accident at work (they both worked at Olive Garden at the time) thanks to a mutual friend of theirs. Unlike Artie and Alfred, my mom and her best friend didn't have a sentimental park- I just included that as a theme for the story. **

**Anyway, that's all for now! I'm super excited to update this! Let me know what you guys think, yeah? Feedback encourages me greatly and makes me crave writing more! See you all soon!**

**... I should make a cover for this soon.**

**Translation Notes:**

**_Dieu merci - French: "Thank God"_**

**_avec lui - French: "with him"_**

**__j'avais peur - French: "I was afraid"__**

**__je suis desole - French: "I'm sorry"__**


	4. Chapter 4

His world fell apart from under his feet.

Arthur's weak heart imploded on itself as his mind raced a mile a minute and his thoughts grew more and more unresponsive, "_He's lying_", "_He's just playing another joke on you_", "_Nice one, Frog, cut the act"_, "_He can't be dead…_"

He wanted to say something, anything. His body craved to just _speak_ but nothing would drift out no matter how hard he tried to force it. Arthur stared blankly at nothing in particular as his forest eyes quivered in shock and fear.

He needed to say something; he needed to do something, why was he just frozen there, why did he suddenly fell so dizzy and nauseous, why was Francis hugging him, why couldn't it have been someone else, why—

"What…?" Arthur released as his brain pressed on with the struggle of wrapping itself around the horrible situation. Francis slowly peeled himself off the shorter Englishman and peered at him in confusion.

"Arthur—"

"You're joking. You must be fucking joking," Arthur retaliated with a grim smile, "Alfred is perfectly fine; he has to be. I just had a chat with him before I left my house. He's alright, Francis, he is. He can't be hurt, I just… I… I just talked with him on the phone…"

The further Arthur went on, the less he began to believe the rapid words trickling mindlessly from his mouth. He felt his body begin to tremor, and soon he felt the warmth of calloused hands on top of his shoulders.

"Arthur, I'm not joking. He's—"

"Let go of me," Arthur snapped coldly. He glared viciously at the older man, who, in turn, lifted his large hands off the Brit's shoulders in shock. Arthur took a step back and shook his head briskly, "I need to go see him, I need…"

He was sprinting madly towards his car before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. Nothing felt real; Arthur was positive that this was all just a cruel, sick dream that he had slipped into, but each time his foot crunched down on the pavement, the truth of the matter plunged deeper and deeper into his veins.

He felt the cold metal of his car against his back within seconds as he leaned against it and scrambled hysterically for his phone. Sweat began to race down his paling face as he rapidly unlocked it, pressed Alfred's contact, and called.

One ring.

Two rings.

"Come on, come on, pick up you twit, please…"

Three rings.

"Hey, you've reached Alfred! Sorry I'm not around right now, but—"

With a clank, the phone collided with the black pavement and disconnected the call. Arthur stared down at it in mad disbelief with his lips parted in shock, eyes wide, and hands shaking violently.

"No, no, no… He can't possibly…" Words failed to grasp meaning in his jumbled mind as Arthur searched frantically for an answer. This wasn't real, it couldn't be, but it was. Oh God, this was reality and there Arthur was, frozen, with his mouth gaping like a fish while somewhere Alfred, his best friend, his _love_, was hurt, or even dead.

With a sharp gasp of realization, Arthur swooped down and scooped his phone into his hands. Without a final thought, the blond scrambled into his car and drove.

* * *

><p>He never once even considered himself to be a man of God.<p>

But as he drove wildly, blindly, and too quickly to the E.R., Arthur found himself repeating one phrase over and over again through shaking breaths. Was it to God or some other higher power? Was it to reassure himself and bestow a starving thread of hope to himself? Of that, he couldn't be sure. The only thing Arthur knew was the phrase with the most bitter taste that was stuck in his throat; the phrase that echoed repeatedly in his mind:

_Please don't fade away._

_Please don't fade away._

_Please don't fade away._

_Please don't fade away._

Arthur wasn't too sure how he managed to reach the E.R. in one piece, but he hardly gave it second thought as he swerved his car into a vacant parking space.

"Breathe, Arthur, breathe," he muttered and placed his trembling hands on his warm cheeks for comfort. The pep talk, unfortunately, proved to be nothing more than a failure and Arthur soon found himself sniffling at the wheel like a child. The tears escalated with each second that ticked by, and before he knew it, he was sobbing into his hands yet again. Nothing else mattered anymore; all his mind knew of was Alfred.

His best friend Alfred.

His love Alfred.

His hero Alfred.

_His_ Alfred.

"You better be all right, you idiot," he gasped bitterly to himself with a sick chuckle, "or else I'll kill you myself…! You have to be okay. You can't leave me."

Trembling fingers grasped desperately at blond locks, and Arthur choked back a rather violent sob.

"Be okay, Alfred, be okay…" he whispered shakily to himself as if his petty wishes would change the outcome. With a final sigh, Arthur opened the car door and stepped out into the cold early afternoon air. A gentle breeze blew past him and nipped at his damp cheeks, but Arthur paid no mind as he paced nervously towards the E.R. doors. His only concern was Alfred; he was the only thing that ever mattered to him.

With more force than intended, Arthur swung open the large glass doors and was instantly greeted by the cold, sad scent of hospital rooms and broken hearts. The walls of the waiting room were painted snowy white and outlined with baby blue, and a few lively colored paintings were hung neatly upon the walls. Arthur grimaced; why was such a melancholic place like a hospital presented so innocently?

After taking a few hesitant steps into the room, Arthur was overcome with a sense of claustrophobia. The waiting room felt like a box that was slowly compressing him, and he felt as though he was surrounded by five hundred people instead of the five that were present. He began to panic as he heard the faint scream of the hospital gurneys as their wheels scrapped ruthlessly against the cold tile of the hallways and the horrific cries of pain from the poor victims of fate as the doctors and surgeons did God knows what to them, and oh Lord, Alfred was in there and—

"Arthur!"

The trance was broken. The blond blinked his tired eyes and wiped at the sweat that lined his forehead as he slowly returned touch with reality. The sad, worn face of young Matthew Williams in an oversized red sweater was staring back at him.

"I called out to you a million times, but I don't think you heard me… Are you all right? Erm, as all right as we can be right now…" Alfred's younger brother asked. Arthur stared into the dull lavender-blue eyes of his best friend's world with a hint of jealousy. He looked so… Broken. The Jones-Williams family was gifted with beautiful eyes that could sing a sing soul a thousand heartwarming melodies; both brothers held this trait magnificently, but Matthew's eyes seemed so soulless, as if they had lost what little hope and reason they had left to cling to.

Arthur realized that he has lost that.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine Matthew. I just forgot where I was for a moment. Is he all right? What happened?"

"He…" the Canadian pressed his pale lips together and held his breath for a moment in an attempt to regain his composure, "I got the call this morning. They said that a truck swerved into him and they collided head-on… I haven't seen him yet; he's been in surgery since I got here. I can't lose him, Arthur, I can't. He's my brother; he's all I have left. He might be an ass, but I love him…"

Arthur blinked down at the dark purple carpet beneath his feet as Matthew began to weep. He felt anger and resentment beginning to bubble up inside of him. He was aware of how selfish it was, but he couldn't help it. He was always jealous of Matthew.

"Why did you call Francis? Why didn't you call me? You have my number. I understand that you're dating that imbecile for some reason, but you should've called _me._ Alfred is the most important person in my life, Matthew, and I had to find out about this through _Francis_ of all people!"

Matthew peered at Arthur with a look so fiery that the older of the two felt a pang of guilt storm his gut.

"They called our mother too, Arthur. She got here shortly after I did, and she could hardly stand to see me here. I was going to call you, mind you, but she refused to let me tell anyone what had happened because suddenly Alfred is her 'baby' and she didn't want anyone else to go near him. The funny thing is that she got tired and left about an hour ago; shows how much she cares about him… I panicked. You _know_ what she did to me, Arthur. I didn't know who else to turn to because Alfred was all I had. So I'm sorry, but just be happy that you're here now."

Both men refused to pull away from each other's gaze. The Englishman watched fat tears roll from the other's eyes, and the Canadian watched the other's green eyes quiver in sorrow. It was a mutual understanding; no words needed to be slipped at that moment.

Arthur's knees gave out.

He crashed down to the carpeted floor and bit his lip, mentally scolding himself, begging himself not to cry again. Matthew was by his side in an instant and placed a caring palm against the shoulder of the man he had known for ages.

"I know that you and I have never really been on the friendliest of terms," Matthew whispered, "but I know how much Alfred means to you, I really do. I want you to understand that he means a lot to me too. I don't love him the way that you do, of course, but I still love him. I don't want him to slip away either. Alfred is strong, you know he is. He can pull through this; I believe in him and you should too. The three of us will get through this together, okay?"

Arthur nodded in bitter understanding and began to dry his eyes as Matthew rubbed calming circles into his shoulders. The pair sat in understanding silence for what felt like hours. There was nothing to say anymore. Minutes dragged on against the current of time, and soon the tears were bottled up yet again. As time crawled on pitifully slow, Arthur and Matthew moved from the floor to the weak comfort of the waiting room chairs and continued to play the waiting game. Time ticked by mockingly and dreadfully slow, and Arthur became numb.

* * *

><p>It was half past eleven when a nurse wondered into the silent waiting room.<p>

"Is there a Matthew Williams here?" she called uncertainly. Matthew and Arthur dashed to their feet and wasted no time closing the distance between them and the nurse.

"That would be me," Matthew exclaimed anxiously. The nurse was a short, heavy woman with a large chest and gentle eyes. She looked unbearably tired, and Arthur felt bad about all the work she must've gone through within the past four hours for Alfred.

"Very good," she glanced over towards Arthur, "and you are?"

"Arthur Kirkland, I've been a friend of Alfred's for years."

"Well, then, Mr. Williams and Mr. Kirkland, I have good news and I have bad news," she confessed, pulling up a clipboard into view, "Alfred is still breathing and is alive; however, he sustained very serious injuries. He was scrapped and burnt in multiple places throughout his body, but those should heal properly in time. Unfortunately, he fractured three of his ribs, his left arm was shredded, but thankfully the damage wasn't as threatening as it could have been; he received stitches and should be able to have complete function of that arm in time. He also broke his left leg and received large gashes to the right. Thankfully, he will be able to walk again, but not without the support of a cane or a walker due to severe trauma to his right knee…"

Arthur had heard enough.

Tears were swimming down his freckled cheeks like waterfalls, and his breathing was low and quick. Why did it have to be Alfred; out of all the people in this ungrateful world, why did it have to be him?

"Will we be able to see him soon?" Matthew asked. He was weeping as well, and he constantly wiped his pink cheeks with the long sleeve of his sweater as the tears refused to give in. The plump nurse, who had a nametag that read Katyusha, Arthur noted, glanced down at the clipboard in her fat hands and bit her lip anxiously.

"I do not like to be the bearer of bad news, but there has been further, more drastic damage done… When both vehicles collided, Alfred was shot from his motorcycle and hit head first against the nose of the truck. He was wearing a helmet, thankfully, or else the poor thing would be dead, but the damage was still done. Alfred has suffered from a traumatic brain injury, which is frequent with motorcycle accidents, and he is currently in a coma. We cannot be a hundred percent sure as of yet, but we suspect that damage has been done to his motor skills, his speech, and his memory… This is a very, very terrible thing, and I am so very sorry to you both; I hate this part of my job, but Alfred is extremely lucky—"

Arthur didn't want to hear anything about luck. The high pitched ringing in his ears drowned out the speech of the Russian nurse. This was far from luck, very far. Arthur failed to see how anything of the sort would even slightly be considered _luck_.

'_This is it_,' he thought, '_I am going to lose him.'_

"No," he breathed as hot tears threatened his vision, "no, no, that can't be right. You can't possibly be serious. This is _Alfred_ you're talking about; he can withhold anything… He…"

Lost green eyes lunged at Matthew for a sliver of reassurance, a glimpse of hope, a glimpse of _anything_ positive, but all Arthur received was a slow shake of the head before Matthew buried his face in his sleeved hands and blubbered out sobs and tears.

This was all a dream. It had to be, this couldn't be happening, not to him, not to Alfred.

"Please," Arthur choked to Katyusha, "please let me see him."

Conflicted and influenced by the intense emotions of the men before her, the woman frowned, "I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland, but I cannot allow that."

"And why the bloody fuck not?" Arthur retailed loudly. Matthew's shattered pale eyes peeked over at the Brit, who was beginning to shake yet again as tears crept down his wet cheeks.

"Arthur, I think we should listen to what she—"

"I don't want to listen to what anyone has to say," Arthur snapped back, "I don't want to lose him, Matthew, I can't! I'm not going to stand here and hear false words about luck when he's in there dying! I need to see him one last time; I can't lose him, not again."

Arthur's quivering eyes panned on to nurse Katyusha, who was staring at both men with a look of absolute hurt and sorrow etched upon her round face. He wondered if she too felt the pain of losing Alfred.

"Please," he began softy, "just let me see him, if only for a moment. You don't understand how much he means to me, to Matthew, to everyone. Alfred is an amazing person, and without him, the world is dark. He's my best friend and he has been for ten damn years and I love him, oh God I love him and I never even got the chance to tell him…"

Watching two grown men sob into their hands for the life of one important man was more than enough to break Katyusha's heart down. The short nurse looked between both men; at Alfred's brother who was sniveling into the sleeve of his auburn red sweater and shaking his head in disbelief, and then to Alfred's best friend, who was gasping, shaking, and mumbling faintly to himself.

Alfred must have made quite an impact on so many people.

"All right," she decided softly, "I'll allow you both to see him, but only for a short amount of time. I don't like being the bad guy."

* * *

><p>Never before had a hallway felt as narrow, as sickly, as utterly terrible as the hall that nurse Katyusha led Matthew and Arthur down. Despite being clean and well taken care of, the musty scent of sorrow just wouldn't trickle out of Arthur's nostrils. He felt ill to his stomach as they passed closed doors and crying families.<p>

He decided then that he hates hospitals.

"It won't be a pretty sight, I'm afraid," nurse Katyusha warned as she stopped the taller men in front of a closed brown door, "Are you sure you both still want to do this? It might be better for all three of you to wait until his wounds aren't so fresh, or until he was woken up."

"No," Arthur replied sternly before the Canadian could, "no, I need this."

The Russian nurse nodded and laid her caring eyes upon Matthew, mentally asking him if he was all right with the decision as well. His long locks bounced as he gave her a nod, and she let out a lengthy sigh before slowly creaking the door open and allowing the pair inside.

It was an unreal sight.

A man who distinctly resembled the Alfred they knew and loved dearly was lying motionless on a hospital bed with his arms by his side and a thin, snowy blanket drapped over his body from his chest down. Alfred's gorgeous, sun kissed locks were shaven and replaced with bulky, ugly staples that penetrated his swollen pink head and held blotches of skin together. His defined, sharp face was red with skid marks, dried blood, and burns, and his lively, friendly blue eyes were closed off from the world. Alfred's chapped, red lips were parted slightly with a long tube snaking from his mouth that connected to another pair of tubes that were lodged into the nostrils of his bandaged nose, which connected to a band that wrapped around his face and connected to a tall, threatening machine by his bedside. His arms were rested on top of the blanket, and his left was swollen, red, and topped off with a row of stitches that zigzagged up his forearm. The rest of the damage was hidden away by the clean blanket.

It wasn't Alfred, it couldn't be him. This man looked nothing like the Alfred F. Jones that Arthur had spent the past ten years of his life learning to love. He didn't have the damn piece of hair that refused to lie flat, he wasn't smiling or emitting that dreadfully obnoxious laugh, he wasn't greeting Arthur with friendly, beautiful, electrifying baby blues. It can't be him.

"God help him," Matthew whispered through a weep from behind the Brit. Arthur couldn't take his stunned eyes off the limp body that was beginning to look more and more like Alfred.

His best friend Alfred.

His love Alfred.

His hero Alfred.

_His_ Alfred.

"No," he breathed as he began to stagger towards the bed, "Alfred, this can't be you…"

The closer Arthur inched, the more the belief and reality of the ordeal seeped into his skin and dug into his bones until ultimately, he dropped to his knees beside the bed. His exhausted eyes traced every visible inch of Alfred's mangled body. Under the medical equipment, the staples, stitches, dried blood, and burns, it was Alfred. It was definitely Alfred, there was no use denying it any further.

The faint beep of the heart monitor matched the frequency of Arthur's beating heart as he finally realized that this was not a dream, Alfred was in severe condition, and there he was, lying limply right under Arthur's small nose.

"Oh my God," Arthur squeaked, "it's really you, Alfred… Christ, I'm so sorry. I've failed you countless times this past week. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry…"

Alfred was so close to him. Arthur could easily reach out and touch him. He ached to wrap his arms around the American, he wanted to press his lips against his mutilated face, as sick as it seemed. He longed for the familiar, warm, reassuring touch of Alfred; he wanted it desperately. With a sniffle, Arthur placed his shuddering hand upon the bedside, and suddenly they were back under the light post in their park. Alfred and Arthur were the only two people left in the world again; the presence of Matthew and Katyusha was no longer felt, the putrid, stomach twisting scent of the God forbidden hospital was no longer stuck on his tongue, the only thing that existed at that very moment was Alfred. Hesitantly, in fear that movement would shatter Alfred completely, Arthur's lips parted and he gasped out a whisper that could only be heard between the two of them:

"Come back to me soon… I miss you… I love you..."

* * *

><p><strong>First and furthermost, I would like to apologize for taking some time to update! School was kicking my butt, but luckily, I've been on summer break for a few days now, so I was able to update!<strong>

**I would like to apologize for how many people I probably broke with this chapter ehehe.**

**There's a lot of parallels to the true story that this is based off in here, but some can't be told just yet because it would count as a spoiler! My memory on the ordeal is a little foggy, but if I recall correctly, my mom went to the hospital after her best friend got into the accident, and somehow managed to get inside his room by saying that she was a nurse there? I have no clue how that worked, aha, but she said that her best friend's girlfriend and his mother (who was abusive and awful, if I haven't said that already) were there too. His girlfriend recognized her but didn't say anything because she knew that his mother didn't like either of them, and thankfully she didn't recognize my mom. She told me that she knelt down besides his bed and said "Come back to me soon, I'll miss you", which breaks my heart every time my mom tells me that story. **

**I had to do quite a bit of research on motorcycle accidents and medical procedures for this chapter to be accurate... That was pretty grim aha, wasn't fun at all. **

**I hope to have the next chapter out by July, but it may come sooner or later, I can't tell ya. I hope you guys enjoyed, leave me some feedback! See you all soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Alfred,_

_ The days are never ending. I feel like I've been stuck in a constant loop that I cannot break out of no matter how hard I try; no matter how much force I put into the push. I never once even thought that I would miss your obnoxious laughter, or your little quirks, or the way that one damn piece of hair won't lay flat against your head…I miss everything about you. I never thought that a world could feel so empty without your presence, or that the Earth could stop spinning without you, but it's true. Nothing is the same without you. It's been almost three months now and I still can't tear the image of you lying bloody and broken on the hospital bed out of my mind. _

_ God, do you know I thought the accident was a joke? I thought that Francis was just being an arse, do you know that? I refused to believe that something this fucking terrible could be true because I can't lose you. I just can't. I'm so bloody selfish, Alfred, but I refuse to be without you. _

_ I wonder what thoughts plague your mind. I really hope you're thinking about positive things. I don't want you to remember your accident and how painful it was; I want you to remember the things that make you smile. Like my graduation. Do you remember that? You stood on the fucking chair as I walked across to get my diploma and you started screaming and cheering so loud and you cried out my name and ugh, I was so embarrassed because of you. You annoyed nearly everyone who attended, but you didn't even care. You looked like such a fool; you were always such a nuisance…_

_ That moment is probably my favorite memory, honestly. I never felt more important than I did then. I miss you. I hope you wake up soon; I haven't felt this alone in ages. Don't leave me. _

_Please come back soon._

With dry, aching eyes, Arthur carefully closed the moleskin notebook, sat back on his desk chair, and emitted a deep sigh. He pawed at his eyes and ached to cry. It was a terrible feeling, not being able to cry. Arthur craved to feel something, _anything_. He wanted to cry again; he wanted to break down and curse at Alfred for being so stupid. The blond was a blank, untouched slate—tears hadn't been shed in weeks and glass hadn't been broken in almost a month. Arthur had become only a dead shell of a man and it killed him inside.

**[Me]**

**How is he?**

**[Message sent: 7:22PM]**

**[Matthew Williams]**

**He hasn't woken up yet.**

**[Message received: 7:23PM]**

**[Me]**

**Can I see him?**

**[Message sent: 7:24PM]**

**[Matthew Williams]**

**You know the answer to that already, Arthur. **

**[Message received: 7:26PM]**

Arthur grunted deeply in his throat and tossed his phone on the desk in front of him.

"It's not fair," he muttered bitterly, "it's not fucking fair. Why does Matthew always come first?"

The blond shot his dull eyes towards the brown, worn notebook and frowned deeply, almost scarring his face with crease lines.

"Don't I matter to you? I hope you know that he has _always_ come before me. It's always 'Matthew this' and 'Matthew that'. I'm tired of Matthew. I'm tired of fighting over him."

Angry eyes lingered on the notebook as Arthur waited impatiently for a reply.

"He has to grow up, Alfred. I know that you had to be his rock for all of your lives but my God, he's almost twenty-two years old now! When are you going to let go and live _your _life, not his?"

The air was stiff with silence. Arthur's nostrils flared as his eyes grew hot, and he smiled grimly in satisfaction. He was finally _feeling_ something again.

"Good thing you never had the chance to choose between him and me then, eh?" He countered darkly to the silence. Without waiting for any possible form of a reply, Arthur stood up and paced heavily out of the small office. His bare feet dragged against the carpet as he inched his way towards the kitchen. A pain began to surge from his head and he frowned in distaste. Headaches seemed to be one of the many symptoms of Alfred withdraw, as ironic as it was.

Arthur decided to trudge past his kitchen and change course to the bathroom to tend to the oncoming storm in his head. The bathroom lights flicked on with a small motion of his index finger, and Arthur made note not to look at himself in the mirror as he dug through the medicine cabinet; he didn't want to grimace at himself and think about how a single soul was ruining his life.

"Did I really not pick up some blasted…" he droned as he realized that the small container of Advil wasn't present. With a small grunt of annoyance, the Brit slammed the cabinet shut and turned on his heels.

"Serves me right, I suppose," he breathed as the bathroom grew dark again. Arthur rubbed his throbbing head and squeezed his lifeless eyes closed as the pain began to build up and take effect. As silly as it seemed, the man refused to take the quick drive to the drug store at the end of the block; Arthur had grown accustomed to sheltering in his home when he wasn't at work. A mental list of other possible remedies flooded the Brit's swarming mind: he could sleep, although he wasn't exceptionally tired just yet; maybe he could just lie down for a while and try to relax it off, or maybe he could drink it to paralysis just as he done the evening prior to the accident?

Green eyes slowly peered through slits as Arthur debated with himself about whether or not he should drink. Liquor had been absent from Arthur's system for almost a month now, as he found that while the remedy _was _numbing, he would only feel worse in the morning. But the comforting taste of booze had always been there for Arthur in his time of need, and he deemed this an appropriate "time of need".

It didn't take the man long before he admitted himself to alcohol treatment.

* * *

><p>"<em>And another thing-!<em> You never… you never listen to me! I told you not to buy that blasted fuckin' motorcycle, but you did it anyway, and look what happened! You always, _always_ get hurt when you don't listen to me!"

Matthew bit his lip in concern and held his cell phone away from his ear as Arthur's drunk screams and accusations grew more and more incoherent and mindless. His long fingers jittered against a battered coffee table as his anxiety increased as Arthur droned on.

"Hey, hey, Arthur calm down. What if I… Stop by, eh? I'll come over and we can talk about Alfred, how does that sound?"

"Jus… Just don't die again, okay? My door's unlocked in case you ever decide to come back."

"Okay, Artie, okay, I'll be there in ten minutes," he quickly hung up before Arthur could protest any further. With a nervous sigh, Matthew quickly composed a text message to his boyfriend.

**[Me]**

**Arthur is drunk. He called me thinking I was Alfred. I'm gonna drive over there and make sure he's ok and talk to him**

**[Message sent: 11:03PM]**

The tall blond pocketed his cell phone into his beloved red sweater and made an attempt to calm his wild nerves. He and Arthur never necessarily got along well, and a drunken Arthur was generally even worse than a sober one. Despite how irritated Arthur sometimes made him, Matthew couldn't help but feel an ache in his heart for the older man. Sure, Arthur hardly ever spoke to him and he often flashed the younger blond glares in high school, but Matthew just held a natural compassion for people. Arthur could be an ass at times, but he made Alfred happy. Matthew could overlook the dirty stares and the awkward tension that veiled the two simply because Arthur was important to Alfred. His brother was a man who deserved to be happy; he did so much for the people he came in contact with that it wouldn't seem natural for Alfred to not be blessed with happiness and love in return, even if that happiness and love came from a short British man with unruly eyebrows.

A furious rumble grabbed Matthew's attention and he quickly fished out his phone.

**[Francis ]**

**Be careful, you know how he is. Merci, je t'aime. **

**[Message received: 11:05PM]**

**[Me]**

**Je t'aime aussi : )**

**[Message sent: 11:11PM]**

Thoughts of his dear French lover cleansed his mind as Matthew grabbed his car keys. Francis was far from perfect, that much was obvious, but he was perfect enough for Matthew. Besides his brother, Matthew never had any close relationships, and while he never complained about it, his heart was missing someone to cast its kindness upon. When he met Francis in community college, Matthew never thought that he would grow to love him as much as he did. Francis was flirty and elegant while Matthew was shy and could even be considered slightly feminine. The Frenchman often embarrassed the younger man and enjoyed teasing him and making him blush. They had a strong friendship, but there was always a bigger spark between them; Matthew always felt his heart race with every touch. It wasn't long before they became lovers, and Matthew finally saw how bright the world really is. Francis painted his dark, monochrome world and showed him a life of fun and happiness. Francis treated Matthew to dates, they shared stories with each other, and he made Matthew feel genuinely _happy_. Of course Alfred made him happy as well, but not in the sense that Francis made him. Francis opened his eyes and proved to him that the world wasn't nearly as dark as he initially assumed it was, he warmed his heart and shaped Matthew into a better man, and for that, the younger blond was eternally grateful. Francis was miles away from perfection, but every little gesture only made Matthew's heart blossom larger and larger with the love he possessed for his boyfriend.

As Matthew fought back the soft push of the chilly winter air and got into his car, he wondered if Arthur felt the same way about Alfred. Did his brother shape him into a better person? Did his magnificent blue eyes out-shine any star Arthur ever saw? Did he love Alfred the way a couple loves each other in the movies?

He knew Alfred loved Arthur. Alfred tried to conceal it and keep it a secret, but there are some things that a loving brother just knows. Alfred lived every single moment of his life for two people, one of them being Arthur. He talked about the short man as if he saved a million lives in one night; he always did. Arthur was like some sort of god to Alfred; Arthur was a goal that the younger man wanted to reach and claim as his own. Matthew was oblivious as to why Alfred never confessed to his best friend; all he knew was that every single crevice of his brother's mind was occupied with images of Arthur. Despite the ever present tension between Matthew and Arthur, he felt sorry for the pair. He wanted Alfred to be happy, of course, but he also wanted _Arthur_ to be happy as well, no matter how often they sent each other glares from across the room. Matthew wanted both men to be happy, and it broke his fragile heart to think that maybe Alfred and Arthur just weren't meant to be; perhaps their love was doomed to be nothing more than a decently kept secret for all of eternity?

Arthur made Alfred happy. No matter how strong the waves were between Matthew and Arthur, he always wanted the Brit to stand by his brother's side because he lit up Alfred's world, and for that, Matthew was grateful. Alfred was too busy being everybody's hero to realize that _he_ needed one as well.

"Maybe Arthur is Al's hero," Matthew concluded as he parked his car in front of Arthur's house. Hurriedly, the blond stepped out of his car and made his way through the freezing late December air and up to the door. Cautiously, he creaked the door open and popped his head in.

"Arthur…?"

"Oh, look who decided to finally join the party," Arthur replied in a slurred mess. Matthew took this as approval to enter, and so he quickly stepped inside the warm, cozy home and shivered. He caught sight of Arthur and frowned. His brother's best friend was spread out on an old, lumpy couch with an empty glass in his hand and a blissful smile across his face.

"Arthur, you need to drink some water," Matthew decided as he quickly paced past the man in question and headed into the kitchen.

"Oh Alfred, don't be silly now, love! Why'd you come back, huh? I thought you _left_," Arthur spat out the word 'left' as if it set fire to his throat and he plopped himself over the ratty couch cushions to observe Matthew. The younger blond decided to ignore the harsh words and rushed to Arthur's side with a tall glass of water in his grasp.

"Please drink this," he tried to hand the drunken man the cup, but Arthur only frowned in return. After a moment, Matthew tried again, "It will make it hurt less."

Another pause ensued. Arthur stared at Matthew with half-lidded eyes and a small frown. Matthew bit his lip and tried to nudge the glass towards Arthur, but he wasn't having it. With a sigh, Matthew decided to give up as he placed the forgotten glass on the coffee table behind him and crouched in front of Arthur, who continued to stare sadly at him.

The ice broke as Arthur's lip began to tremble, "I miss you. I miss you so much," he whispered as he peered into Matthew's soft eyes, "I want you to come back and I hate myself… I hate myself for depending on you the way I do."

Matthew felt a needle pierce his heart and he quickly climbed on the couch and sat next to Arthur, "He'll come back soon," he reassured as he rubbed tender circles into Arthur's back. As soon as the touch was initiated, Arthur's head snapped up and he glared at his guest.

"Matthew? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be… guarding Alfred, or something?"

"No, I'm stuck here tending to your drunk ass," Matthew snapped, feeling slightly hurt by Arthur's sudden change of heart. Green eyes glared daggers at Matthew as anger began to bubble up inside of the British man.

"You're the reason… You're the reason he's gone," Arthur spat as he tried to grasp the words that spiraled in the blurry vortex of his thoughts, "Everythin' Alfred does is for you. Maybe he got fed up with it an' swerved into that truck to get away."

Matthew grimaced in utter disgust and disbelief and made no hesitation to stand up, "I think you're able to take care of yourself for the night; I'm going home."

"It's always you," Arthur slurred loudly as Matthew headed anxiously for the front door, "it's you and never me, and that's not fucking fair. I _love_ him and _you're_ the one who gets to be with him. Wha' makes that fair?"

"You know it's not me, Arthur," Matthew barked and turned around to face the shorter man as flames grew in his lavender eyes, "mom's the one who got her 'second chance' with her 'baby'. Don't blame me when I have my restrictions too."

Arthur stood up and glared his daggers at his guest, "Oh, do shut up! Who cares about your piss-poor mother? It's _you_; you're always the more important one to him. As long as you're around, he… I… He can't love me with you in the way."

The room grew ice cold as petrifying silence wrapped around both men. Matthew glared deep into the fiery eyes of a hurt and drunk Arthur and held his tongue, begging himself to not let anything rude slip; he didn't want to disappoint Alfred.

The silence chilled both parties down to their bones as neither dared to break the thick ice between them. Moments ticked on as the air grew heavier and heavier until one of them finally spoke.

"You're an asshole, Arthur. You need to stop letting your _stupid_ jealousy consume you."

Without another word, Matthew swung the front door open and pulled himself out of the metaphorical cold and into the physical cold of the night. In a dangerous mixture of anger and hurt, Matthew stomped towards his car and decided that maybe Arthur didn't deserve to be happy afterall.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Alfred,<em>

_ I fucked up again. I hurt Matthew and I don't even know if I feel bad about it or not. I just… I miss you and I'm emotionally unstable. I don't know what's wrong with me or what has gotten into me._

"No, no," Arthur frowned down at the paper and crossed off the last sentence. He nibbled on his bottom lip as his hung over mind made an attempt to form thoughts into words.

_I thought he was you. I called him by your name and I spoke to him as if I was talking to you. Well, until I realized that it wasn't you. God, I can only imagine how you'd feel about this. He was always the source of our arguments. _

The Englishman briskly rubbed his temples in frustration and glared down at his words. Nothing sounded right. He wrote to Alfred every single day since the accident, but this was the first time he had complications regarding what to say. With a deep grunt, he quickly scrawled a large 'X' over the page and flipped to a fresh one.

_Dear Alfred, _

_ I'm stupid. I fucked up last night and you would hate me for it._

"Why do I even bother with this," Arthur muttered bitterly and squeezed his tired eyes shut. He flipped the small book closed and leaned back against his chair. He felt so small and so lost. He was aware that he messed up; what he said to Matthew the night prior was beyond wrong. Missing the one your heart belongs to is understandable, but hurting the ones _they_ love? Arthur knew deep within his broken heart that Alfred would never approve of this kind of behavior, especially if it was directed towards Matthew, but he also knew that he would _always_ mess up one way or another; it seemed to be his talent nowadays.

A loud grumble from his phone tore him away from the swirling mess of his mind. With squinted emerald eyes, he reached for his phone and silently prayed that it wasn't Matthew.

**[Frog]**

**How are you feeling this afternoon, mon ami?**

**[Message received: 1:34PM]**

Droopy eyes frowned down at the short message as Arthur hastily typed his delightful reply.

**[Me]**

**Sod off.**

**[Message sent: 1:35PM]**

Not feeling up to par with interacting with others, Arthur turned his phone off without waiting for Francis' reply and tossed it back on his desk.

"I should get out of the house today," Arthur sighed. Right as he said it, an idea popped into his mind; an idea that would either make him or break him. Before he had the chance to change his mind and regret the thought, Arthur reached for his coat and decided to make himself look at least half way presentable.

* * *

><p>Snow was cascading silently down to the earth by the time Arthur pulled into the lot of the park. Even though it was not a popular destination during winter due to the weather, Arthur could make out figures playing near the swings and walking through the dying trees.<p>

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Arthur whispered nervously as his heart raced a mile a minute. The last time Arthur stepped foot in their park was the night before Alfred's accident when they redeemed their friendship. Even just the simple thought of their park was more than enough to cast shadows over Arthur's heart; alas, he felt as though being here was something that needed to be done. He hoped that being there alone for the first time would give him a sense of hope, a sense that Alfred would be all right in the end, a sense that _everything_ would end up all right.

Arthur clung desperately to that shred of hope as he swiftly paced through the small layer of snow and towards the park entrance. The park had a peaceful and serene feeling: there was a cool breeze and white powder covered the crumpled brown grass like a soft blanket. The further Arthur pressed on, the calmer he felt. He strolled past a group of children playing tag near the swings and caught himself smiling.

"Do you remember when we were fifteen," he whispered against the call of the breeze, "and you took me, Matthew, and… Oh what was his name…? Kiku, I believe it was, here in the dead of night of all times, and you tried to get us all to play tag? You made such a fool of yourself trying to convince us to play that silly game with you, but you actually managed to persuade us and we played in the end, do you remember? And your brother fell and sprained his arm and you were on him like a bloody vulture… You both went home after that, and I remember complaining to Kiku about how upset I was, but hell, I can't even remember _why_ exactly I was so furious at you…"

Arthur's words trickled into the cold wind as he passed a couple snuggling together on a wooden bench. They were two girls who looked as if they were roughly seventeen years old. They were huddled together in a mass of jackets and scarves and they seemed to be whispering to each other. Despite the pain surging through Arthur's heart, he managed to give them a gentle smile as he strode away from them.

"There were so many time when I wanted to do something silly like that with you," he went on, "We would be sitting on my couch watching a movie and I would ache to wrap my arms around you, or we'd be walking to some cheap fast food joint and I'd stare at your hand and debate with myself about whether or not I should reach for it. I wanted so badly to get close to you just as you wanted with me before we met. I never did it though; I was too afraid of how you'd react. I didn't want to lose you because of something as insignificant as that, but when I look our current situation, it makes me wonder if I should've just said 'to hell with it' and reached for your hand or put my arms around you anyway."

Arthur's words slipped away as he realized where he was standing. He was under the light post. A sting rippled through his heart; a sting that was hard and forceful, but it left an aftertaste that was oddly bittersweet. Arthur felt as though Alfred was with him, listening to him drone on just as he used to, and that thought was enough to cast away the chill of the winter air.

"I taught you how to drive," Arthur recalled with a light chuckle, "you were downright dreadful at it and I was pretty sure that I was stepping into my own grave every time I entered your car. You were so damn persistent too! 'But Artie, why do I have to stop here? Nobody ever does; the stop sign basically means nothing!' You're lucky you had _me_ as your teacher or else you would've killed—"

The warmth of Alfred faded away as quickly as it appeared as Arthur stopped himself from saying something he'd regret. He was alone as the light post frowned down at his lonely figure. The wind picked up and engulfed Arthur in its mad rush, and the man felt colder than he was when he first arrived. Upon observing his surroundings, Arthur soon realized that he was the only soul left in the park. The children were gone, the couple was gone, and Alfred was gone. The only things left in existence were the ferocity of the cold and the sad light post casting its lonely shadow over him.

He was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh gosh first, let me apologize for not updating in so long! I usually take a while to update anyway, but I'm pretty sure this has been the longest time yet, so I'm sorry for that! I hope the length of this chapter makes up for that because this is the longest one as of yet.<strong>

**I also changed the summary. I like it a lot better and I hope you guys agree! Oh, and if you guys are interested, I actually have a playlist for this fic, and I can put it on 8tracks if you guys really want it? **

**Anyway, wow, this chapter... It's not _too _exciting, I guess? It hits a lot of key areas like how Matthew sees Artie as Alfred's world, while Artie sees that as Matthew. The only difference is that Arthur gets upset because he's stubborn and jealous and it ruins his "relationship" with Matthew, and it's the cause of most of the arguments between Artie and Al, as seen in chapter... Two, I believe it was? Arthur is trying to improve himself, but he's so fixed on Alfred that it's only ruining him and breaking him further. Poor thing. I guess this could be considered somewhat of a filler chapter, a little? Maybe? The next chapter is going to be more exciting, I promise! I also feel like I should note that we're almost to the halfway mark of the story, so yay! I promised I'd finish it, and I intend to keep that promise!**

**Anyway, there are no connections to the true story in this chapter; that won't occur until we get word on Alfred. **

**Let's hope I don't take extremely long to update next time around. I hope you guys enjoy; lemme know what you think!**

**Translation Notes:**

_**Merci, je t'aime - French: "Thank you, I love you"**  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Alfred,_

_ Merry Christmas. It's rather odd not spending the day with you, Francis, and Matthew like we usually would. What a sorry way to break a tradition; losing it to a horrible accident. I haven't spoken to your brother or his boyfriend since the little spat Matthew and I had a week or two ago, so it looks like I'll be spending the day alone. I've gotten rather use to it, I suppose._

_I still miss you. _

The letters were getting shorter, Arthur noticed. Ever since the fight with Matthew the week prior, Arthur's emotions have drained from his body. He felt dull and empty, and he couldn't decide how he felt about that. On one hand, he grew numb to the pain of losing Alfred, but he missed being able to _feel. _He longed to feel the suspense of the silly crime shows he used to watch with Alfred, he could hardly feel emotion in his journal entries, and hell, he even missed play fighting with Francis at work and shooting petty insults at him. There was nothing left of Arthur. Time had slowly turned him into an unlucky man sucked into a ritualistic abyss. He lived each day in a blur: wait tables at work, write letters that are doomed to never be read by blue eyes, and watch water creep down the cracked tile of his shower.

It had become a rather boring existence.

Feeling weary of staring at the emotionless entry, the blond fixed his attention towards the frosted window of his study and frowned. Three children bundled from head to toe in warmth were paying in the snow in his neighbor's yard. Arthur was almost instantly whisked away into the chill of his mind. Images much like old, forgotten movie clips began to resurface in his thoughts, and Arthur saw three familiar boys standing outside in the December snow. A short boy with unbearable blond locks building a sad snowman, a boy with scruffy red hair and another with wild blond rushing towards him, the redhead shoving his boot into the torso of the snowman, the younger boy screaming out in protest only to have their mother open the front door to scold her sons before retreating back inside.

_'Family,'_ Arthur's mind whispered as the pictures disintegrated into flames just as quickly as they had resurfaced.

It had been over a year since Arthur had last seen his family. He and Alfred were invited to a barbecue last summer and Alfred insisted that they attend. Arthur was nervous, as his relationship with his blood was often rocky, but Alfred was the light of that day. His smile shone brighter than the August sun and his presence seemed to vanquish all signs of tension between the Kirkland's. He remembered feeling grateful.

It was one of the few times in his life where Arthur enjoyed the company of his family.

Leaning against his chair, Arthur allowed his thoughts to travel back to them. Hate was a rather strong word to use in terms of his family; sure, his brothers were mean and obnoxious as children, his mother always had her hands full and his father hardly ever spoke a word, but to deem them worth of hatred? No, no, that was silly. They just weren't close, that was all. He had no right to blame his mother for not holding a strong presence in his life because she had to raise four boys virtually alone. As for his brothers, well... they were young. They seemed to be more bearable last year, although Peter was still annoying and one of his brother's failed to attend.

For the first time in his life, Arthur began to reconsider his feelings towards his family. Maybe it was due to the emptiness in his heart or the longing to just have _someone_ there to extinguish the loneliness, or maybe it was due to the lighthearted air of the holidays; whatever the reason, Arthur considered making the call. He didn't want to be alone on Christmas.

Hesitantly and with a racing mind, Arthur reached for his cellphone and dialed the number he was obligated to memorize from childhood.

It only rang once.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded like wind chimes and Arthur curled his shaking fingers into his messy locks for comfort.

"Mum, it's Arthur," he greeted in a voice just above a whisper. There was a pause on the other line, and he almost considered hanging up and getting drunk instead.

"Oh, Artie, my baby boy! How are you, darling? Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you as well," he let out a breath as relief flooded into his system. He silently thanked God for his mother's bubbly personality; it cut the tension straight out of the air. She had always been the type of person to chat your ear off and ask you a million and one questions while slipping a pet name into every sentence. Oddly enough, it brought a sliver of warmth to Arthur's heart and he slowly grew more relaxed. It was quite a relief to hear someone sound genuinely happy for once, and Arthur's worries retired to the darkness of his mind for the time being.

"How are you, my love? You still work at that restaurant, yes?"

Arthur nodded to himself before recalling that he was on the phone, "Yes, I do. Work seems to take up the majority of my time these days."

"Oh, why? You really shouldn't overwork yourself, dear; you've always done that!"

"Just want to make sure I can support myself," he lied to her.

"Are you doing well, sweetheart? You know, you are always welcome to stop by for a visit if you need to get away," she urged.

"I'm fine, mum, thank you," another lie.

"Well, we're having a little get together tonight for Christmas," she pressed on, just as stubborn as usual, "you really should pop on by!You can bring Alfred too, if you'd like! That boy is always so bright. And he's a bottomless pit, too! He could eat us out of house and home! At least _someone_ appreciates my cooking."

Everything evaporated into white noise at the mention of his name. Arthur held the phone up to his ear and sat in silence, unable to form any intelligent words. The worry crept out of the darkness and began to wrap himself around the man yet again. He was beginning to feel cold.

"Arthur, sweetheart? Are you still there?"

He emitted a shaky sigh and tried to regain his composure, "Yes, yes, I'm well..."

"What's wrong, Arthur, is everything all right," she saw right through his facade. It made his stomach twist into unruly knots.

"Alfred, he..." he was sick of lying, "Alfred got into a car accident in October, mum. He's um... He's actually been in a coma for quite some time now. Two and a half months now, I believe..."

The silence on the other line was excruciating. The Brit sighed heavily as impatience seared through his veins. It was very unlike his mother to sit in silence.

"Oh," she squeaked out after what felt like hours, "Oh god... Are you all right, sweetheart? Is he doing well? Oh, why Alfred..."

Arthur swallowed nervously, somewhat surprised at how well he was maintaining his composure. Hell, he wasn't even faking it, "I'm fine. It's just been hard is all. I haven't had the chance to see him since the night they admitted him into the hospital. Their mother apparently wants to get reinvolved in his life, and she won't allow people to see him. Well, minus Matthew, I guess..."

He heard his mother shuffling about nervously on the other end. Another wave of silence engulfed the pair and Arthur was about ready to say goodbye. He didn't feel like bringing Alfred into conversation.

"Come over tonight, dear," she urged, her voice uncharacteristically stern, "I know how you get when you're upset. I might not have been there for you when you were growing up, but I _am_ your mother. I know my children better than you may think, Arthur. Hiding away in your house and working your behind off won't fix your problems. Please visit, Arthur. It'd do you well to get away for a while."

He sighed as he fingers found comfort in blond strands yet again. He didn't want to be alone today. He was sick of being alone. He had nobody there for him but the bitter comfort of his home.

Spending a day with his once dreadful family was better than wasting away another day with loneliness.

"Okay," he decided, "I'll go. Just please do me a favor and let everyone know about Alfred? I don't want him to be a dinner topic."

* * *

><p>Deeming him nervous would be the understatement of the year.<p>

Arthur sat in his car in front of the house he grew up in as the heat swarmed madly around him. While he certainly refused to spend Christmas- or any day now, for that matter, alone, he was afraid to face his family again. What if they acted cold towards the situation with Alfred? What if the air would revert back to being awkward and tense without a certain bright smile and sunshine eyes to lighten the it?

"Shut up," he scolded himself under his breath, "stop worrying." Before his mind could wander off and spread more worry throughout his body, Arthur turned off the car and pocketed his cell phone into his jeans. Forcefully, he cleansed his mind of all the antagonizing 'what if's' and stepped out into the December air. As he hurried up the driveway, he took the time to observe his old home. Being here always granted him with a wave of nostalgia no matter the situation; the large suburban "mansion", as he viewed it in his youth, was practically unforgettable. It held a handful of unpleasant memories, but being within its proximity blessed Arthur with an odd sense of calmness. He wasn't too sure why, but he decided not to take it for granted. He rang the doorbell.

He was greeted with loud, mindless chatter that slipped through the fiberglass door before it even swung open.

"Arthur, sweetheart, I'm so glad you could make it," his mother exclaimed with a smile not nearly as contagious nor obnoxious as Alfred's. She made no hesitation to wrap her arms around her taller son's waist and give him a squeeze.

"Me too, mum," he tried to convince himself as he returned the embrace. She smelt faintly of honey, and the aroma filled Arthur's lungs.

"Come on in, come on in" she pressed as she nudged her child inside, dirty blonde hair bouncing with a peculiar sort of rhythm, "everyone's here and dinner is just about ready!"

Feeling somewhat self conscious, Arthur closed the large front door as he stepped inside his old home. He watched his mother head back into the kitchen with a bounce in her step.

He was greeted before he even had time to register anything.

"Hi Arthur," the youngest son, Peter, called out from his spot on a large red sofa. A mop of unruly long strawberry blond hair whipped its attention towards Arthur.

"Art," he called, "long time no see, man! You still look like shit."

The man in question frowned as he slipped his shoes and heavy coat off before pacing towards a recliner and getting comfortable in it, "I see your hair still houses rats, Dylan."

Dylan, the second youngest at twenty years old, smirked from his spot next to Peter and fixed his attention back to whatever video game they were occupying their short attention spans with.

"Where's dad and John," Arthur pried after the look-a-like's failed to present themselves.

"Helping mum in the kitchen," Peter replied without breaking his blue gaze from the rather large television screen, "damn it, Dylan, you killed me! I thought we agreed not to kill each other!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Then don't do it," the youngest growled and slapped his older brother's arm in protest. As the bickering between the pair grew hotter, Arthur caught himself grinning.

He oddly missed this, it seemed.

* * *

><p>It could've been the warmth drifting from the fireplace, or perhaps it was the air from the freshly baked ham, or maybe it was his imagination playing tricks on him in order to dull the pain he faced the past few months? Whatever the reason, Arthur was beginning to feel happy. His insides were glowing with warmth and he was genuinely happy for the first time in what seemed to be ages as he shared a meal with his family.<p>

"So Peter," the eldest, John, initiated in the midst of the meal, "how's the tenth grade treatin' you?"

The short blond squirmed in his seat on the left of Arthur as he took another scoop of his third baked potato, "It's going fine."

"He's failing half his classes," Dylan countered from the right of Arthur. Peter's blue eyes widened in betrayal as their mother choked on her water.

"Peter Kirkland! You're failing?"

"Yep," Dylan began with a smug grin as the youngest attempted to reach behind Arthur, swinging his fork viciously at his older brother, "he came home last week and tried to hide his report card in the trash, but I got a good look at it."

"You promised you wouldn't tell," Peter retaliated. Arthur tried to ignore the bickering of his younger siblings and focus on his meal.

"Arthur," his father spoke to him for the first time since he arrived, "are you planning on going back to school?"

His freckled cheeks flushed everso slightly as he regarded the man sitting next to the son who was practically a replica of him, "Ah, I wanted to be an English professor for quite some time, but I don't really have the time for school."

_'Nor the motivation,' _his thoughts added bitterly.

"Yeah, I'm with you on that, Art," the shaggy mess of hair contributed, "I'm just set on sticking around here forever. It's a miracle I even made it through high school."

"You most certainly are not, young man! You're almost twenty-one years old now; you should be fixing on moving out soon, and frankly..."

Their mother's further scolds went unnoticed by Arthur when a furious rumble against his leg grabbed his attention. Using the argument as a distraction, he fished his phone from his pocket and frowned upon observing the cause of the interruption.

Matthew Williams.

Arthur nibbled on his lip irritably as the device shook rapidly in his palm. He had zero interest in speaking with Alfred's brother; the two hadn't communicated since their little spat, and Arthur was content on keeping it that way. He didn't have time to listen to Matthew's accusations of how "selfish" and "stupid" he is just because they care about the same man.

The blond stuffed his phone back into his pocket without further thought.

"Who was that, love?"

"Nobody important," he replied with a small smile as he stood up and gathered his plate. Deciding to cut some slack off his mother, Arthur grabbed Dylan and Peter's dishes as well and followed his mom into the kitchen.

He felt a familiar, annoying sensation against his thigh and sighed heavily as he placed the dirty dishes into the sink. Arthur clawed out his phone and glared at the ID. Matthew was apparently very needy this evening.

"Stupid bloody..." he hissed under his breath. In a fit of annoyance, Arthur ignored his call and turned off his phone.

"Who keeps calling you," his mother inquired as she cleaned the night's worth of dishes and silverware. Arthur exhaled deeply and rubbed the back of his head.

"Matthew. We had a little spat a week or two ago and we haven't talked since. I'm sure he was calling to talk about it, and I really don't want to hear it right now."

"He seemed like a sweet boy," she replied over the roar of the faucet, "his name always seems to slip my mind, though. He's dating Francis, isn't he? Oh, I sure do miss that boy come to speak of it, he was always so flattering! But what did you two fight about, pumpkin?"

Arthur decided to ignore her comment about Francis. He bit his lip in embarrassment, "I got a bit drunk and called him. He came over and I thought he was Alfred. I got upset because he doesn't allow me to see him and he got all pissy with me and left."

The short woman nodded, her blond locks bouncing as they always seem to do, "Ah, you and John both seem to have a drinking problem. You boys get that from your bloody father... Just be careful with what you say, all right dear? Alfred is Matthew's brother and he loves him; you're not the only one who's hurting."

Arthur's nostrils flared slightly at his mother's advice, "Yes, very well, but I care for Alfred too, and Matthew is the one who gets to see him. I don't care how damn awful their mother is. Alfred is important to me and I have every right to see him," he snapped, his voice as cold as the December air. There was a silence between the mother and son as the heat in Arthur's eyes flared viciously. The clanking of pots and the roar of the water was the only noise between the pair, and the man began to grow uncomfortable under the silence. His mother was usually upbeat and talkative, but had a tendency to fall silent when she grew sad. Arthur fidgeted awkwardly upon realization that he had hurt his mother.

"I need some air," he muttered. He was growing oh so tired of upsetting people. Before his mother was given an opportunity to reply, her son slipped out of the kitchen. Paying little mind to his younger brothers in the living room and the absence of his father, Arthur quickly put on his shoes and coat before reintroducing himself to the chill of the night air. With a defeated sigh, the exhausted blond dragged his feet through the snow and began his descent towards the driveway.

"What're you doing out here?" Startled by the unexpected voice, Arthur whisked around towards the source of it. John was sitting on a bench in front of the house, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle in his hand.

"I just needed some air," he explained, feeling rather awkward. Arthur and John never got along very well as children and the two never kept in touch. The redhead didn't even attend the summer barbecue last year due to living out of state. Hesitantly, as if he was afraid to even breathe, the blond approached the older man as he puffed out a thin wall of smoke.

"You want one," he gestured to the bottle in his grasp, "sure look like you need one."

Arthur initially extended a pale hand towards the bottle, but quickly decided against it, "No, no, I'd rather not."

John nodded, his fiery hair bobbing much like the way their mother's does. The pair fell into an awkward silence that made Arthur feel rather uncomfortable; he was tired of awkward exchanges.

"So," he began, fixing his green glare on the snow beneath their boots, "how... How have you been?"

A puff of grey enveloped John's sharp face as he spoke, "Fine. I'm getting married in the spring."

Brilliant eyebrows knitted together and Arthur flipped his gaze on to his brother, "What? I wasn't even aware you were engaged."

John replied with a swift nod. The younger of the two stared at his brother. John was practically the spitting image of their father, from the bright hair to the dull, quiet conversations. Arthur wondered what had become of the spunky, boisterous child he had grown up with. There was an odd change in his family that Arthur had failed to grasp before: John had become a man, Peter was flunking school, although he was still the same child he had always been, and Dylan had no intentions of doing anything with his life, but that wasn't all too surprising, honestly. Hell, Arthur even wondered if his father was truly always this quiet, this distant, and this absent... Now that he thought about it, Arthur never spent quality time with his dad. He didn't know how to feel about that.

Everyone had grown up. Everyone was developing into adults and Arthur had no idea because he refused to stay in tune with his family for years. He wondered what kind of opportunities he had let slip away from him. Maybe he and John could have gotten along better if Arthur wasn't so distant, maybe he could've been there for Dylan to rely on, maybe he could've helped Peter with school, and hell, maybe he could've spent more time with his mother and father?

Arthur Kirkland had thrown away every opportunity he ever had to be close with his family, and he wasn't too sure how to feel about it.

"If you're done staring at me," John spoke, ripping the blond out away from his thoughts "we should go back inside."

The younger of the two, still confused by his conflicting emotions, gave the redhead a nod and stood up. He was ready to usher back into the warmth of the house until a cold, calloused grip on his shoulder grabbed his attention.

"I've never been good with this kind of shit," John began uncertainly, the cigarette still between his teeth, "but chin up, Art. Everything will be fine."

It was a rather small and even a bit of an awkward gesture, but it made the fire in Arthur's heart burn against the ache in his chest.

* * *

><p>There were tons of them.<p>

Plain black frames, fancy wooden frames, silly frames with debatable phrases such as _"Family makes a house warm"_; pictures of the Kirkland boys as children, wedding photos, and even pictures with faces Arthur hardly remembered. He never realized how many frames holding friendly smiles lined the tan walls of the narrow hallway upstairs.

He traced his thin fingers along the image of a little boy with angry green eyes and black eyebrows glaring at him with a ferocious look and a pink unicorn plushie tight in his fist. He frowned at the reflection of his younger self and turned his solemn gaze to the next photo. He was greeted by a pair of devious green eyes. The young redhead, who had to be around eleven years old at the time, was leaning against a shorter, younger child who possessed a jungle of strawberry blond hair and a dopey grin. A short little runt with equally ratty hair was sitting in the background glaring at his brothers.

Arthur's hand fell to his side as Dylan and Peter's bickering traveled upstairs. He missed out on more than he originally thought, it seemed. His younger self hardly ever seemed to be happy in any of the pictures. That sad fact remained constant as Arthur's eyes traveled further down the decorated wall. Unhappy green eyes and furrowed brows stretched out for what seemed like miles and Arthur's heart began to hurt.

And then the cycle broke.

Held by a simple white frame was a photo of two teenage boys at an all too familiar scene. They were sitting cross-legged under the watchful eye of a black light post. A tan boy with sun kissed locks and eyes that brought a whole new meaning to the word blue had an arm swung around the hunched shoulders of an older, more sophisticated boy with freckled cheeks, bright eyes, and a small yet sincere smile.

Arthur could not recall taking the picture, although based upon Alfred's acne plastered forehead and cheeks, he presumed it was taken during the latter's freshmen year. Cautiously and full of undignified fear, Arthur's white hand reached up and touched the glass enclosing the image.

He smiled.

"Arthur, dear?"

His head snapped over to view his mother standing near the stairwell. She wore an unreable look upon her freckled face and Arthur's chest lit up in pain. He felt terrible for hurting her.

"Mum, I'm-"

"Come with me to my room, love," she interrupted, "I want to talk to you."

Arthur nodded, taking one last glace at Alfred's grin before obeying her request and following his mom across the hall and into her room.

"Sit down, sweetie," she commented as she sat down on top of pristine sheets. Arthur obeyed and glanced expectantly at his mother.

"I want you to be able to talk to me, dearest," she began softly, "I know you're hurting and I know it's hard, but I'm afraid that you haven't been speaking to anyone. I know you don't get along with Matthew, and Francis, bless his heart, you have a... difficult time opening up to. You're my son and I love you so much, Arthur. I know how you act when something is troubling you and I want to help."

He wasn't expecting that. Arthur stared down at his mother with a sad regard and racked through his brain in hopes of finding the right words. She was staring back at him with hope illuminated in her blue orbs and Arthur was momentarily reminded of whom he had lost.

"It's... hard," he began hesitantly, "It's been so damn long and I still miss him, but I'm starting to give up, I suppose. I don't know what use there is in waiting if he may never wake up, but at the same time, I care about him too much to just let go. He's always been such a huge pain in the neck and I can only bear so much of him, but Alfred is my best friend. He stood by my side for years. I just don't know what to do anymore."

Arthur paused and turned his gaze away from his mother before continuing, "I... I don't know how I feel about the fight I had with his brother. I'm not very... fond of Matthew, really, and it's not fucking fair that he gets to see Alfred while I don't. You know, it's probably one of the reasons why I'm considering giving up. I've debated it for a while now, but then I remember him. I remember all the hell Alfred and I put each other through and all the hell we've overcome and I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose _him_, mum, and I guess I rather push him away myself than to have him be lost to something else. I rather stab myself than to have him do it for me. And then I remember that I promised him ten or so years ago that I would be there for him, but here I am doing the opposite of that. I care about that stupid buffoon so damn much, but I don't know what to do anymore."

Arthur felt a warm presence against his shoulder and turned to see his mother leaning against him. She wrapped a trembling arm around her son's back and smiled gently, "As much as you claim him to be annoying, you've always been happier with Alfred. I've seen you grow up around so many different children, but it always went back to Alfred. You spent time with so many different boys, but at the end of the week, it was always Alfred's go-lucky face that greeted me at the door."

She sat up and turned to face her son with an understanding smile in her eyes, "Arthur, my love, you are my son. I know that I wasn't really there for you lot as you all grew up, but I know each of my boys like the back of my hand. You never brought home girls. You had one girlfriend in middle school, yes, but after that? You only brought home Alfred. A mother is not blind to the way her child feels. You fancy him, and you have for quite some time, haven't you?"

Arthur was beginning to crack. His lip trembled and he smiled bitterly, "Since I was seventeen. He's so stupid, but I never loved anyone as much as I love him, and it kills me some days."

"Oh, honey," he felt her arms curl around him as his eyes began to grow warm with tears that he didn't think existed anymore. Arthur leaned against the shorter woman's shoulder as his emotions began to pour back into him at an unbearable speed. He felt everything. He felt the pain of the sad, ritualistic life he sucked himself into, he mourned over how truly lonely he was, his chest ached at the thought of the fight with Matthew, his heart split because Alfred was still _gone_, he wept for his family and how awful it was that he pushed everyone away and blamed everyone but himself. He felt the reality of what had happened to himself and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. The pain was flooding his lungs and he couldn't believe how truly low and dreadful he was. Alfred would not be happy. Alfred would not be proud.

She held him closely as he wept. Their minds both scolded themselves and neither of them could handle it.

"Sweetheart," she choked through her gentle tears and lifted up Arthur's wet chin to look into his sad eyes, "I love you no matter what. Despite any mistakes you have made, I think you're perfect. I'm so, so sorry I wasn't there. You probably know this now that you're older, but life gets very difficult sometimes. Raising you four was one of the most challenging things I ever did, but I do not regret it. Your father was never around for me or our family, so it was all up to me and I regret not being there for you. You don't have to forgive me, just know that I'm so sorry for being an awful mother."

"Don't apologize," Arthur countered between soft sniffles, "I'm the one who pushed my family away."

He watched her wipe her pink cheeks as the pain in his chest slowly began to subdue, "I wish you would've told me everything sooner, sweetie. I'm always here for you. Please don't give up on Alfred. Life gets hard, but it's supposed to be that way sometimes. You love Alfred and he needs you to be there for him. Please don't give up on him. I know how it feels to want to give up, and I thank God that I never gave up on my sons. Make yourself proud. You and Alfred are both so incredibly strong; you've been through so much. You're a Kirkland, my love; we're built like an empire."

All Arthur could muster was a nod. He wouldn't let his mother down, not again.

"You know," she added, "your father and I plan to move back to England once Peter graduates and heads off to college. I don't know if we're going to end up dragging Dylan with us, Lord give me strength, but you are always welcome to come along with us."

It was an unexpected offer, but it made Arthur feel warm nonetheless. He supposed he wasn't truly alone afterall, "I'm flattered, mum, but I need to be here for Alfred."

"I never said he wasn't invited."

The smiled that stretched across her round face proved to be contagious. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he felt his lips pull into a smile as wide as the one that night.

* * *

><p>Midnight was slowly approaching by the time Arthur said goodbye to his family. His mother, stubborn as always, urged her son to spend the night, but he had refused. The mother-son pair shared a long, loving hug; one that Arthur hadn't experienced in ages. He promised to call her when Alfred was well. She said that they were invited over when Alfred could leave the hospital.<p>

Arthur exchanged a friendly nod with his father and announced that he would consider going to college once things in his personal life straightened out, which appeared to please his father. Arthur wished John luck in his marriage and told Dylan and Peter to behave themselves.

Arthur felt like a renewed man as he dragged his feet through the snow and towards his car. He was finally starting to come to terms with his mistakes. He would not give up on Alfred, no matter how rocky the waters might be. He would make calls to his family and start to visit more once Alfred was well enough. He would go back to school and maybe even convince Alfred to go with. He would confess his feelings to his best friend and hope for the best. Hell, maybe he'd even sit Matthew down and have an adult conversation with him; try to be friends.

Arthur wanted to get his life back; it's what Alfred would want for him. He wanted to make his best friend proud, he wanted to make his mother proud, and he wanted to make _himself_ proud.

Feeling rather confident, Arthur slammed the car door as he nestled himself into the drivers seat. Arthur reached into his pocket and fished out his phone, turning it on with a content grin.

It vibrated aggressively three times in a row. He had forgotten about Matthew.

"Why was he still trying to reach me..." Arthur's green eyes glanced down at the device as his heart thumped against his chest, threatening to break lose. He had two more missed calls from Matthew, along with a text message from him.

Arthur opened the message as a familiar sense of nervousness began to make home in his veins.

**[Matthew Williams]**

**Alfred woke up you inconsiderate piece of shit. **

**[Message received: 11:38PM]**

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry for the wait guys, oh my goodness, I really need to learn to update faster ;w; It took me, what... Almost exactly 3 months to update? I'll try to start updating quicker, but no promises, sorry!<strong>

**Anyway, my gosh, this is the longest chapter as of yet! This is actually the longest thing I've ever written, it's a little over 5,000 words! There was no way I could've stopped it sooner since Arthur's interaction with his family is very important, as is Matthew's text message at the end. I hope that the length of this dialogue heavy chapter makes up for the wait! This is actually my favorite chapter so far. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that this is probably the half way point? Maybe? I'd say it's either this chapter or one of the next two. I can't tell you guys how many chapters this will have, but I'd like to say maybe 12? 13 maybe? 14? Something like that.**

**Well I hope you guys enjoyed this one! There are no connections to the true story in here; that won't pop up until the next chapter! I'll try my best to update quicker, but I can't promise. **

**Let me know what you guys think! I hope you're enjoying _My Love Won't Fade Away_ aka "I am never happy with the story summary".**

**See you guys soon, I hope!**


	7. Chapter 7

It was that cold morning in October all over again.

Arthur raced in a blind rush down the barren midnight streets with his cellphone pressed against his ear.

"Come on, come on," he hissed, slamming his foot on the break as a stoplight made an unexpected flash to red, "answer your fucking phone, dammit!"

The high pitched drone of the ring echoed throughout his wild mind. It was taunting him, playing little mind-tricks on him. The noise carried on and on and Arthur grew more and more restless.

_Riiiing._

_Riiiing._

_Riiiing._

He was about ready to hang up and phone again- fourth time's the charm- until he finally heard what he had been aching desperately for.

"Look who decided to care," Matthew's voice was as cold as the December air and the pure hostility of it sent a chill into Arthur's core.

"Where are you," Arthur caught himself screaming. It felt as though he had little to no control over his actions and the thought frightened him, "Is he okay?"

There was an eerie pause on the other line. White noise blacked out Arthur's mad thoughts as he tried to focus on driving. His heart pounded rapidly against his chest over and over again like some sick tune he couldn't escape. His breath was short and his throat was beginning to constrict. He felt as though he was suffocating. He was losing his mind.

"Matthew," he demanded, gruff and breathless.

"I'm at my house," Matthew finally replied, his voice hoarse and quiet. It took Arthur all of two seconds to realize that the man on the other line was crying.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," Arthur announced, quickly switching lanes. Afraid of Matthew's reply, the Briton briskly ended the call and tossed his phone to the passenger seat to be forgotten. Arthur gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned a sickly white and sped through intersections and neighborhoods, chanting a familiar phrase under his shaky breath:

_Please don't fade away._

_Please don't fade away._

_Please don't fade away._

He was so sick of the universe playing these silly games with him. All Arthur wanted was just a day, just _one bloody day_ where he could turn blind to the memories and forgot that he had spent the last two months of his life utterly and desperately _alone._ But no, of course not; God forbid that Arthur Kirkland fellow have any good in his life.

"No, don't you dare put yourself down," he spat, "not after what happened today. Be strong. For Alfred."

_'For Alfred_,' his mind agreed. The promise blessed Arthur with a welcomed sense of serenity that maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright.

_For Alfred._

* * *

><p>Arthur's knuckles rapped the door only once before it swung open.<p>

Matthew glared down at him. Arthur didn't know what was colder; the younger man's stare or the air outside. Underneath his fiery facade, Arthur noted deep, dark circles beneath Matthew's soft eyes. He looked so frail and it stung the Briton to see him look so broken.

The taller of the two stepped away, allowing Arthur entrance to his home. Unable to fathom any sort of a greeting, the Englishman simply nodded and stepped into the dim light of the house he had visited only a handful of times.

"Why didn't you answer my calls," Matthew spat, closing the door with an unusual amount of force. Arthur froze in surprise and narrowed his eyes, "I called you so many goddamn times, Arthur, and you just turned off your phone? Why? Who does that? I thought Alfred was important to you."

"Don't you _dare_ play that card!" Arthur didn't even miss a beat. He swung himself towards Matthew and met his threatening glare. The older man creased his large eyebrows and silently hoped his own stare looked just as menacing, "Don't act like it's always my fault! I'm trying to change, I'll have you know!"

"No," Matthew barked, leaning towards the man he was practically forced to grow up with, "That's not how it works. You can't just wake up and decide to be a good person, Arthur!"

"And do you think you're not in the wrong? You sit there and allow him to baby you. He puts you in front of everything, including himself!"

"I don't have anyone else, Arthur, he is all I have! Why can't you understand that you are not the only person who loves him," Matthew countered, the fire in his eyes beginning to simmer everso slightly. They glistened with the threat of tears, and Arthur felt a pang of guilt in his gut.

"I don't want to go on without him," Matthew whispered under his breath, his penetrating gaze finally faltering as wetness clouded his vision. Arthur's features dropped as Matthew's words trickled under his skin. His shoulders fell and he blinked a few times, trying to catch reality in fear that it would slip away.

"What... What do you mean," he asked cautiously. Matthew sniffed softly and refused to make the contact he was once so fixed on holding. The silence enveloped them and cast its dark, gloomy shadow over them. The silence grew louder and louder as time began to halt. Arthur's heart thundered in his aching chest. He wanted to speak, to tell Matthew to open his damn mouth, but words set fire to his throat. Thoughts became less and less coherent and he was afraid to peel his worried gaze from Matthew; the hate and anger long since vanquished.

It was then that Arthur noticed Matthew's shoulders quivering. His dirty, unkempt curls hung over his eyes and bounced with the rhythm.

"Matthew," he managed to choke out. The words tasted like venom.

"I was there early," it was quiet, a beat just above a whisper, but it roared out against the dark silence of the hallway, "I told Francis that I would celebrate Christmas with him tomorrow. Alfred loved Christmas; I wanted to be there with him for it. Mom didn't show up, big surprise, so I stayed in his room."

Arthur couldn't help but prickle with jealousy. Matthew peered up at him before continuing, "He stirred. It was slow, I barely noticed it at first, but he started to move a little bit. He grumbled something. I have no clue what he was trying to say and I don't think he knew either. I called the nurse over and she told me to wait outside- something about having too many people in the room for Al's comfort. So I waited."

Matthew's hand crawled up to meet his lips and he began to nip at his nails, a nervous habit, and continued, his voice muffled, "God, I was in there forever. I have no idea how long I paced that hallway. It was driving me insane. I must've walked back and forth for half an hour until the nurse- Katyusha, you remember her right? She came out of his room. She told me... She..."

The blond shook his head and chuckled grimly. The hair on the back on Arthur's neck flicked upwards. He was beginning to grow impatient with the anxiety of waiting for the bloody resolution. Matthew must have noted that, because he turned his gaze away from view and continued, "They said it took him a very, very long time to form words. When he seemed... ready, they asked for his name and they asked him to name his family and friends. He couldn't, Arthur, he doesn't fucking remember."

_He doesn't remember._

_He doesn't remember._

_He doesn't remember._

The phrase echoed throughout Arthur's racing mind as he stared at Alfred's beloved brother with a blank regard.

"What," Arthur gasped, "what do you mean 'he doesn't remember'? He... He knows who he is. He knows all of us. He knows _me_."

With that, a frown creased Matthew's round face. He swiped the wetness from his cheeks as the pain in his eyes slowly transformed into a blacker emotion, "He doesn't remember anyone, Arthur. They said it had something to do with... With his collision. They couldn't tell me too much because they don't know everything just yet. Alfred apparently just stared at everything. She said he reminded her of a little kid. He fell right back asleep, though, something about patients who have been comatose sleep a lot..."

Arthur took a step back, nearly tripping over his bulky boots. He shook his head rapidly and furrowed his brows together, "No, no, that's silly! It was probably shock or something. He was in a coma for almost three months. He should be fine by tomorrow... He can't..."

"Arthur..."

"He has to remember me. He would recognize me as soon as he saw me. He would remember; there's no way he can just for-"

"Arthur!"

At the fierce cry of his name, the Briton snapped his gaze on to Matthew. The younger blond wore an unreadable expression, "I know it's hard, I know, but you can't sit around in denial. Not about this. Not about Alfred."

Anger instantly struck Arthur, much like lightning. Matthew had no right to tell him how to feel nor had he the right to accuse him of being in denial. His hands began to tremor and he took a strong step towards the lanky man.

"I know Alfred better than anyone," he hissed, his brilliant eyes sharp and piercing, "He can't just _forget_. He can't just forget our ten years, he can't just forget me. I-"

"Stop being so selfish!"

He was taken aback by the sheer amount of blades in Matthew's voice. They struck Arthur with such force that he took a hesitant step back in shock. The youngest of the Jones-William's family was never one for fighting, but God, he sure knew how to raise his voice and stand his ground.

"You're not the only person who was important to him," Matthew hissed, the anger bubbling inside him yet again. He fixed his daggers on Arthur. The British man stayed perfectly still and sent his own blades up at Matthew.

"You _were_ the most important person in his life. It was always _'Matthew this'_ and _'Matthew that'_. It was always you, everything always led back to you," the words left a bitter taste on his tongue and Arthur was about ready to heave. His heart weighed him down like a brick. Everything hurt.

"If I was so damn important to him, then why doesn't he remember me," Matthew shot as fat tears crawled down his pink cheeks, "you're so self-centered, Arthur. God, why can't you ever be happy with anything? Alfred doesn't remember _anyone _and here we are screaming at each other like children!"

Matthew was fuming at this point. A deadly mix of anger and sorrow scrambled throughout his veins as he glared down at Arthur. His teeth dug into the pale flesh of his lips as he tried to gather his thoughts. With a shaky sigh, Matthew balled his fists and aggressively rubbed the tears from his cheeks. It didn't stop them from shedding.

"I tried to help you, Arthur. For Alfred. I'm trying to understand, but I can't. I can't! I don't understand anything you do. I don't know what someone like Alfred ever saw in such a bitter person!"

Arthur blinked. The fire that warmed his body came to a sudden simmer and he grew cold again. Green orbs danced around the room in confusion as Matthew's words sunk in. He was awfully sure he knew exactly what Matthew meant, but he was terrified to confirm something such as that.

"What... What do you mean by that," he tried, allowing his sick curiosity to get the better him.

Matthew's nostrils flared in irritation. He was so sick of this game, "He loved you, Arthur, okay? He fucking loved you, but you were so immersed in your stupid self-pity to realize it."

Time came to a standstill yet again. Ice began to settle between the men and Arthur felt cold, so very cold. His mouth gaped open like a guppy, but words refused to form. They were stuck in his throat; one wrong move and he would choke. He ached to scream, to do _something_. He was lost in this frozen feeling of bitter understanding. Alfred loved him. He actually loved him. Arthur had spent years upon years of his life assuming his feelings were unrequited and spilling his poison on Matthew. He had been such an ass to the younger boy for as long as he had known him, and for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

God, what a shitty being he was.

Arthur's crazed eyes met Matthew's. The boy looked so afraid and so fragile. Matthew was far from weak, but he had depended upon Alfred his whole life. He had grown attached to him, and God, Arthur cursed his every existence for turning blind to it. The anger in Matthew's gentle face was gone, replaced with sorrow. His shoulders fell in defeat.

Matthew hurt all his life and all Arthur ever did was contribute more fuel to the fire. He never had a true reason to resent Matthew. The guilt clung to his heart as he finally began to realize what he had done.

"Matthew... Matthew, I-"

"Please," he interrupted, his voice low and sad, "go home."

"Matthew, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

It was quiet. Silence had made home between the pair yet again. Arthur was beginning to detest that sound.

"Go home, Arthur," Matthew nodded, forcing a weak smile. It didn't even reach his eyes, "I think we both need to rest, now."

The British man wet his chapped lips and nodded. His hand pulled at his sandy locks for a sense of comfort and he drew back inside himself. Unable to form any coherent sentences beyond a meek apology, the older of the two embraced the chill of the silence and stepped outside. He didn't bother turning around; he was too afraid to meet those eyes again, too afraid to admit to the damage he had caused. Arthur was a terrible human being, he could admit that much.

As the door creaked closed, Matthew retrieved his mobile from the glass coffee table and made a call. He was crying again.

* * *

><p>The drive home was antagonizing. Arthur's mind was as blank as it had ever been as he drove slowly and without purpose. The storm in his mind had reached a new high; it was so intense that it felt surreal. Blank. Emotionless. The Briton felt as though there was nothing left in his mind expect for static.<p>

His swelled heart stopped in its slow tracks as he pulled up to his driveway. There was a familiar white vehicle parked near his mailbox. Arthur felt sick to his stomach as he parked his car and quickly scrambled out.

He made a point to ignore Francis as he exited his own automobile and took the long strides through the thick snow to meet the Englishman.

"Arthur," he begged, tailing the shorter man as he approached his front door. The man in question knitted his dark eyebrows in frustration and fished in his coat pocket for his keys.

"Sod off, git," he growled, "I'm really not in the mood for this."

"Arthur, _mon ami_, please," he tried, placing a calloused hand upon Arthur's shoulder. His eyes burnt into the back of his friend's head in hopes that the younger would feel his desperation. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, feeling vulnerable and on the verge of tears. Francis had come all this way for him despite everything that had happened the past few months- despite the way he treated the Frenchman's own boyfriend. Hell, he hadn't even spoken to the fool in ages, and yet here he was clinging to his shoulder and pleading to grant him company like some sort of lost child.

Somewhere in his heart, he found that comforting.

"I care about you, Arthur," he whispered, dragging the other man from his melancholy thoughts, "you deserve to have someone there for you, and that position belongs to me. Please."

"Fine, Francis, fine," the click of the door called out into the silence of the cold, cold night as he spoke. Arthur gently pushed the door open and ushered his guest inside, quickly following suit. The pair removed their coats in a bitter, awkward silence. Arthur made a point to avoid eye contact; he didn't think he was ready for that kind of intimacy.

Longing for a familiar comfort, Arthur shot off through the living room and soon found himself in the kitchen. Without effort, he found a bottle of whiskey almost immediately and swiped for it.

"Arthur," his guest called gently, halting near the archway of the kitchen, "are you sure-"

"Shut up, frog," Arthur snapped, his voice cracking with the sudden intensity of his words. Francis' expression softened, and guilt quickly washed over the Brit, "I just... I need to cope, and this is how I go about it. You can stay if you truly wish to, but I... Let me do my own thing. Please."

Francis, having known Arthur all his life, nodded and granted the Briton the space he required. Arthur gave him a grateful stare and quickly placed the bottle up to his pale lips. The warm liquid enveloped his being and God, he missed it, he ached for it. He was well aware that he was certainly a borderline alcoholic, but that proved to be the least of his many concerns. He just wanted to rid himself of the memories. He wanted to be free of the hurt he was so ill of suffering from. He craved to rid his mind of all the pitiful memories of Alfred, of Matthew, of himself, of everything.

"I want to forget," he squeaked, staring down into the amber liquid. If he could drown himself in it, he would.

"Arthur," he was hesitant, approaching his long-time friend with a certain caution. It made Arthur feel ill. He took another swing, "I know it hurts. It hurts us all, but you cannot do this to yoursel-"

"And why not!"

His cry dripped with emotion. Arthur whipped his head towards Francis, nearly tossing the tall glass to the tile as he stared pleadingly into Francis' blue orbs. God, he was so tired of the color blue. He decided at that moment to hate it. There would never be another blue like Alfred's.

Arthur began to shake. He glared deeply into his friend's eyes with a certain hatred, convinced that he could see himself in the crystal orbs. His eyes burned with tears waiting to be shed as his body shook lightly.

"I am so bloody _sick_ of crying," he choked, slamming the bottle to the table. A splash of amber tainted the counter.

With a soft, compassionate stare, Francis quickly strode to his friend and placed both his hands upon his quivering shoulders, "There is nothing wrong with crying, _mon __chérie_, don't you dare put yourself down; that is my job," he forced a smile, "We all cry sometimes. It's how people deal with pain."

Without warning, Arthur fell against the Frenchman's frame, his hands fumbling for the expensive cloth of Francis' shirt. Taken aback, the older blond tentatively wrapped his long arms around his short friend and balanced his stubbly chin on Arthur's head.

Had this had been a normal day, Arthur would never be caught dead in the arms of an amphibian such as Francis. But today was far from a normal day; those times were locked away in the past. Arthur knew he could never get it back no matter how desperately he clawed for it. There was no harm in a little friendly comfort.

"Why am I such an asshole," Arthur muttered, his voice muffled against the fabric of his friend's designer clothes. Francis released his grip on the smaller man and smirked down at him.

"You were born with a stick up your ass, Arthur," he teased. Arthur shot daggers up at the twit, but he smiled despite himself.

"You're a dick," he decided, freeing himself from the embrace. His tired eyes found interest in the old clock hanging from the wall as a familiar silence greeted them. The hands were frozen.

"Arthur?"

"He loved me, you know," he whispered dully, closing his eyes. He nibbled at his bottom lip in a grim attempt to keep himself from shedding anymore tears. He heard Francis sigh softly.

"I know that, Arthur. Everyone knew that... Well, minus you two, of course," he explained, keeping his eyes attached to Arthur. The Briton snaked his long fingers into his unruly mop of sandy blond hair and tugged.

"It's... not fair...!"

The tears were nipping at his eyes again. He was growing so truly sick of crying. In a fit of anger, Arthur reached for his forgotten bottle and reacquainted himself with the bitter liquid. The booze trailed down his constricting throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the promised comfort of alcohol.

Francis remained by his side, a deep frown creasing his face. It was never something he would admit aloud, but he did not enjoy Arthur's excessive "pity drinking", as the Frenchman deemed it. Sure, stopping by a local bar for a few shots was all fine and well, but his little British friend was a depressed drunk. Even when he had nothing to anguish over, a drunk Arthur always found something to complain about one way or another. Now, an already depressed Arthur wishing away his sorrows in booze... It was never a healthy mix.

"_Mon cher_," Francis whispered, taking precaution with his word choice, as Arthur was known to blow up if the wrong word was uttered, "perhaps we should sit down, _oui_?"

The Englishman emitted a gruff noise of approval and nodded towards the walkway of the kitchen. Francis allowed his friend to lead just in case he would stumble. While it would be quite hilarious and serve as beautiful blackmail, Francis knew it was not the time for their old shenanigans.

Arthur plopped himself heavily upon the couch. He stretched out his long legs and laid his clad feet on the coffee table- a mannerism only drunk Arthur possessed.

"Hey frog," he slurred, his forest eyes tailing Francis as he seated himself, "when do you think his memory's gonna come back?"

Francis smiled sympathetically and crossed his legs in thought, "I am unable to answer that question, I'm afraid. We should just take one day at a time and be happy that Alfred is still here with us."

His companion frowned deeply and downed what was left of the whiskey. He leaned over to set it on the table and missed, "I can't do that. I feel like I'm goin' crazy, Francis."

The alcohol was consuming him, Francis noted. It honestly didn't take much to get Arthur drunk.

"We all know you're crazy, but that never stopped Alfred from loving you, for whatever reason."

He smirked as Arthur's fist collided with his arm.

"Belt up," he grumbled, leaning back to recline against the cushions. The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a long while. The room was noiseless; it was as if the air around them had froze. Francis found himself feeling drowsy. His long, blond lashes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake.

"Does Matthew hate me?"

The question was soft and timid, asked in a tone no louder than a careful whisper. Francis probably wouldn't have caught it if it wasn't for the sheer amount of silence in the small house. Francis sighed heavily and twirled a soft, bouncy curl around his dainty finger.

"I can't speak for Matthew, you know that," he replied gently, "He just... He gets... fed up with you. You're a lot to handle, _cher_, it takes a special type of person, but do not fret. He cares about you at least somewhat; he's the one who asked me to watch over you tonight, afterall."

Arthur froze as his intoxicated mind soaked in the words. So Matthew had asked Francis to look after him despite their fight, had he? Probably to keep him from drinking himself into a coma.

He cursed himself in his drunken state of mind for that grim slip up.

"God, why have I been so fuckin' dreadful," he pondered aloud. Arthur peered over at Francis and his stupid blue eyes: his eyes that resembled clear, winter skies, his eyes that were usually so devious and playful, his eyes that were then so tired and old, his eyes that looked nothing like Alfred's, like fireworks against a black sky in summer.

Blue was never more displeasing.

Arthur felt two arms coil around his body and it took him a long minute to realize that he had been slipping out blubbered sobs. Francis held him in another comforting embrace and traced small circles into his back in hopes to soothe him.

Moments of affection between the two were awfully rare, but they did exist. Arthur learned that night how much he and Francis leaned on one another.

"I'm pathetic," Arthur breathed and laid his tear stained cheek against his friend's shoulder.

"You're hurt, Arthur. There is nothing wrong with the way you're acting. Everything is going to be fine. Alfred can get through this, you know that more than anyone. We will help him, and I will help you."

Through his silent tears, Arthur smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>Allow me to apologize for how long I took to update oh my gosh I feel really bad! I'm such a slow updater, please bear with me. <strong>

**I hope this chapter is okay, I struggled with it like mad. In the plot notes, Francis is the one who tells Arthur what happened to Alfred. Originally, Mattie and Arthur were just supposed to fight the whole time, but when I wrote the draft, it came out differently. Speaking of the draft, God, I had such a hard time with it! It just didn't want to be written. Something finally hit me near the end of it, though, and then I breezed through the final with little problem. I didn't like the draft, but I think the final is better. **

**Anyway, please, please, please don't drop this story because of the amnesia oh my gosh. I personally am not too big of a fan on memory loss stories unless they're executed beautifully, but I didn't have much of a choice because I'm following the true story of what actually happened, at least to some extent. I'm going to take this in a direction that probably won't be expected. The story doesn't focus too much on what happens to Alfred with his memory loss; rather it focuses on how this incident is dealt with, mostly from Artie's eyes. I can't say too much without spoiling the story, but I hope you guys stick around anyway. I'm so grateful to each and everyone of my readers and seeing your reviews and favorites makes my day, honestly.**

**Speaking of your reviews, I LOVE it when you guys analyze the characters and their choices and emotions! I can't begin to describe how happy I feel when I see a long winded review where someone is analyzing why so and so did this and why so and so feels that way. Even though the story is told in third person omniscient point of view, most of the thoughts and feelings we know deeply are Arthur's, even though we know a little bit about how the other's feel. But we can decipher their feelings based upon their actions too. Matthew, for instance, cares at least somewhat for Artie, as seen in chapter five when we tends to his drunk ass, and in this chapter when he calls Francis to check up on him. Matthew cares about Arthur, but as Francis said, he just gets fed up with him. Artie is a lot to deal with. While Matthew does love and appreciate Francis, he grew so accustom to having Alfred by his side, and he leans on him. He doesn't admit that Alfred babies him because he truly doesn't see that. Matthew is afraid of being alone, and Alfred is the only one who stood by his side, so he feels that, without Alfred, he has nobody. The Alfred/Matthew/Francis dynamic actually pops up in a later chapter, so I won't get too into it yet. **

**Before I get even further carried away, the similarities to the true story: My mom's best friend lost his memory as well, but it was more than what Alfred got. Mom said that he "had the mentality of a five year old". He didn't remember her or anyone and he had to relearn how to do everything. The similarities between fiction and reality are almost over, though. Only one more common event happens, which will be in the following chapter.**

**On a final note, if you like my usuk work and would like to read something that isn't drenched in angst, fear not! I dunno if any of you guys have checked out my profile within the past three months, but I have a usuk long distance relationship AU in the works! I want to start that one before I finish MLWFA, and so expect that to be out within the next few months! It'll give me a nice break from this angst too. Let's just hope I can flip-flop between both without long periods of no updates. **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! We're probably either three, four, or five more chapters away from the ending. Thank you all for sticking with me thus far; each of you mean so much to me!**


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